Family is a relative term - no pun in intended. I have this saying that family isn't what you are born into, but what you make of it that counts. In my world my family - for many, many years - had consisted of my daughter and I. Our family tree had been hit by a tornado. Limbs snapped, broken or uprooted by a disease called alcoholism and generations of bad parenting. But there is a bond between us that won't ever be broken. Tested - maybe - but not ever broken. We have stood the test of time - this little family of ours. Loving each other, fighting each other and supporting each other.

In the earlier years, we were never in a position where we could add freely to our family with respect to a pet. We tried caged animals such as Teddy Bear hamsters, gerbils, chameleons and the lot, but all were short lived - literally. The hamsters got lose, the gerbils (John and Lorna Bobbit - so named by my precocious daughter) reproduced and ate their young, and Buddy Holly and the Crickets (she thought it clever because that is what her chameleon ate), jumped from her when she was walking in the park with her cousin one sunny summer day. But in 1998 that all changed. We rescued a cat from a rescue shelter. We fell in love with her and my daughter named her Shiloh.

Shiloh quickly became a part of the family. My daughter was growing older and getting a social life of her own so Shiloh was my buddy. She began filling the void of loneliness that teetered to and fro in my world as I faced becoming an empty nester. She was my unconditional friend: bringing comfort when I was stressed; a sense of well-being when I was feeling under the weather. We shared a lot -her and I - as family members do. Life, death, joy and happiness, our lives were one.

But now her time is coming to an end and I find myself grieving in unimagable ways. Each day that passes, I am grateful. But I know that I will have embrace what is inevitable: the time to let go.

She hasn't eaten in over a week and she is taking very little fluids. I struggle with putting her down because on the outside she displays no symptoms of being ill or in pain. She no longer has the spark in her eye, and she is growing weak.

Saying good-bye is never easy. I grieve but understand and accept the choice at hand. This is as difficult as saying good-bye to my father who was as good and unconditional in his love and support of me as she was.

I will miss you, Shiloh Garza Makowski.