Back in high school I had come home from a wonderful day at school I had been dealing with depression on and off and that particular day I was especially jovial for no real reason. When I got off the bus and walked down the driveway I was met by my father in the driveway, tears in his eyes. He led me into the house with only a "Hey, buddy. Dante (our yorkie) got hit..." and led me into the house. I saw my mom in the rocking chair holding our teacup yorkie in a towel, softly telling him he was a good boy and he was going to be ok. When she saw me enter she began to bawl and asked me to take him and hold on to him for a while. She explained he had gotten out when she went to check the mail and ran into the road. She handed me the bundled up towel and she and Dad went into another room and began to discuss what to do about the whole situation. They were gone for what felt like forever. I held him and rocked him and hoped he could hear me tell him how much I loved him. He was in awful shape, and I will never forget how he looked. That was 8 years ago, and I still get paranoid every time I start to have a really good day that some way the world will put me in my place.