Two years ago…

Today, two years ago, you picked us 🙂  That’s what you really celebrate when you adopt a dog…who cares how old they really are.  We celebrate the day you changed our lives, and we changed  yours.

I can’t possibly express how much that rainy, cold Monday changed our lives.  I tried to tell you about it in the three letters I wrote to you (Here, here and last but certainly not least, here).

When I wrote those posts, I was caught breathless by the support from our readers (I say ‘ours’ because where would I be without you, boy??)  Everyone, and I mean everyone, said such kind, thoughtful things.  Some understood how I was feeling, some wished and hoped they never did.  One particular reader quoted a play/film called Rabbit Hole (which I have yet to see), but it really resonated with me.  In a nut shell (here’s the comment), a mom asks her mother about the loss of a child, and if it ever goes away (the feeling).  She hesitates, and says it doesn’t but that it does get easier, “The weight of it, I guess. At some point it becomes bearable. It turns into something you can crawl out from under, and carry around — like a brick in your pocket.”

The day I read that, I couldn’t wait for it go get bearable.  But you know something?  It is now.  I’m tearing writing this buddy, but it is.  I promise you.  Gosh I miss you so much.  Little things, like the other day when I was petting Holly and using her as a pillow… it wasn’t you.  Her fur was different, longer, a bit courser.  It’s strange the things that stick out.  It was a quick thought at the time.  My heart skipped a little beat, a pang maybe.  But then it’s gone.

My silky, boney-butt pillow

I certainly don’t carry a brick around, but I wear you on my heart (pretty close to it).  And just like the mom in Rabbit Hole, I don’t really want to forget, because your memory is all I have now.  We’re hangin’ in there buddy.  Brian is still tempted to keep every foster that comes to our home, though he has the ‘comparing to Knox’ syndrome too.  He used to be quick to offer you a permanent buddy, but it was to compliment you… not replace.  Hopefully we’re healed of all that soon.  People say you can never replace your Heart Dog, you just learn to love another.  I’m anxiously awaiting that time.

Until then, you can be my brick… and I’m totally okay with that.

Love you buddy.

You nursing me back to health after that terrible bug I caught in Peru– you didn’t leave my side for 2 weeks. Thanks for being an excellent nurse.

Oh, and here’s the comment– I figured I’d leave it here for you 🙂

TwoKittiesOnePittie on March 2, 2012 at 11:54 am said:

What a gorgeous gift and beautiful song! This makes me thing of a line from the play/film, Rabbit Hole, where a mother and daughter are discussing what it’s like to lose a child, and the following scene ensues (it’s long, but bear with me!):

Becca (Nicole Kidman) has been numb with grief since Danny, her 4-year-old, was killed by a car. Now, eight months later, her mother, Nat (Dianne Wiest) — whose son, Becca’s brother, died at 30 — is helping Becca to put away, finally, the little boy’s things.

Becca and Nat carry the milk crates of Danny’s stuff down to the basement, and put them in the corner with a few other things Becca has put aside.

Becca stands there, taking it in. Danny’s been reduced to a small corner of stuff in the basement. She lets out a breath, then turns to her mother.

BECCA: Does it ever go away?

NAT: What.

BECCA: This feeling.

They lock eyes. Nat can see she actually wants an answer. Maybe for the first time ever.

NAT: No. I don’t think it does. Not for me, it hasn’t. And that’s goin’ on 11 years.

(Beat)

It changes, though.

BECCA: How?

NAt: I don’t know. The weight of it, I guess. At some point it becomes bearable. It turns into something you can crawl out from under, and carry around — like a brick in your pocket. And you forget it every once in a while, but then you reach in for whatever reason and there it is: “Oh, right. That.” Which can be awful. But not all the time. Sometimes it’s kinda … not that you like it exactly, but it’s what you have instead of your son, so you don’t wanna let go of it either. So you carry it around. And it doesn’t go away, which is …

BECCA: What.

NAT: Fine … actually.