Keaton Responds to Betsey's Letter

the torch has been passed

It has been one month since Keaton joined our home and family.

Keaton has officially accepted her role as the new “Management”. She has settled in. And she is ready to reply to Betsey’s letter giving her the low down on the house and everyone in the family.

Dear Betsey,

Okay, so I’ve read your letter maybe forty times? Fifty? I lost count because I kept stopping to check if the Intern was okay and also I think I heard something outside and—anyway, I read it a lot.

First, about Mom…. You said she’s an overthinker. Betsey, I don’t think you captured the SCOPE. She thinks about everything. I think about everything. We’re thinking TOGETHER now. It’s either beautiful or a disaster or both? Probably both.

The pictures—SO MANY PICTURES. “Keaton, look here.” “Keaton, stay.” I WASN’T MOVING, I’M JUST FROZEN WITH ANXIETY, BUT OKAY.

And yes, she cries into my fur. The first time I PANICKED. Like full spiral: Is she hurt? Did I break something? Should I get help? WHO DO I GET? But then I remembered—just be there. So I stayed. Very still. Barely breathing. Definitely overthinking it. But I stayed. You said she’ll be scared of losing me. I feel that. When she checks on me at 2 AM. When she watches me too closely. When she gets that look that says “please don’t leave me too.”

As for the Intern… OH. MY. DOG.

You undersold this, Betsey. This kid GETS me. We understand each other without words. When the world is loud, we both know. When we need quiet, we just... exist near each other. No pressure. Just presence.

And HE PLAYS WITH ME! I didn’t even know what playing is but here we are, doing it. Together. With TOYS! I have some. He has some. We don’t keep track whose is whose though. Very informal.

Lastly, about being ‘after you’ Betsey, Here’s the thing…

I’m not you.

You were like Lauren Bacall…Sophisticated. Unbothered. Wise. Classy. No nonsense. But me…I’m named after Diane Keaton for a reason. I can be…Neurotic. Free spirited. Overthinking. A LOT of feelings about EVERYTHING. But of course looking very cool as I am doing all this….

You owned that couch. I’m still asking permission in my head.

You had gravitas. I have anxiety.

But maybe—and I’m still working through this—maybe they don’t need another you? They had you and you were perfect. Maybe they need me? And maybe—maybe—I need them just as much.

I promise you, Betsey, I’ve got this. In my own scattered way.

I’ll claim the sunbeam (after circling it).

I’ll protect the Intern (already my favorite, don’t tell).

I’ll let Mom take a million pictures (still don’t know where to look).

I’ll honor what you built. This safe place. This loved place. This place where broken things come to heal.

I wish I’d met you. REALLY MET YOU. Not just inherited your protocols and your couch spot, but actually KNOWN you. Mom talks about you with this soft voice. The Intern asks where you are. I feel you here. In the spaces. In the routines. In the love that’s still so present. You said I won the lottery being chosen for this family.

Betsey, I think they won it twice.

Once with you. Once with me. I’ve got it from here.

With respect, gratitude, and at least twelve more questions I just thought of,

Keaton

P.S. Burgers ARE great, but did you ever try ice cream?! Mind. Blown.