When it’s too hard to look back and you’re too
afraid to look forward,
look right beside you and I will be there…
Someone told me today that I have an unhealthy relationship
with my dog.
What they don’t know, and couldn’t possibly understand, is that
during my darkest days it is my dog, Jax, that saved my life.
Just a puppy when my son died, I formed a bond with Jax that
has made it possible for me to not just survive losing my son, but to actually
feel something other than pure anguish. The days right after my son’s death were
filled with heartfelt cards and caring phone calls. Family and friends flooded
me with visits and dinner invitations, making it a point to check with each
other, to make sure someone was checking on me.
Jax, just a few months old at the time, saw to it that I got
out of bed everyday. His hunger was his priority and my sadness didn’t really
interest him, yet every morning, belly full and exhausted from about 20 minutes
of play, Jax would snuggle up on the couch next to me and let me feel whatever
it was I was feeling that day. He didn’t judge me on the days I couldn’t find
the energy to shower, he didn’t question my eating habits or force me to look through
the pictures of my son that I couldn’t bare to see. Instead he would sit with
his head on my lap and watch me carefully as I cried and, on special occasions,
would bounce around the room with bursts of energy in what I swear was a
premeditated effort to make me smile. He was on the beach with me when I spread
my son’s ashes and he didn’t leave my side when I went through my son’s
belongings and sobbed because his scent had begun to fade from his things.
As the months passed, Jax and I began to understand each
other. On the days that I ventured out of my house Jax was always my co-pilot. He
understood, but didn’t like, the doggy seat-belt I required him to wear in the
front seat of my car. And I replaced, without too much scolding, the two human seat belts that he defiantly chewed
through when I took more time then he felt was necessary away from the car. He
learned that both Starbucks and the drive thru pharmacy have dog treats waiting
for him and I learned to bring his “drool” towel whenever either one was on our
agenda.
When our first winter was behind us, and summer came to call,
it took Jax weeks to understand that he couldn’t assist me on my errands
because it was simply too hot for him to stay in the car. Because the look on
his face every time I left the house completely broke my heart I purchased a
small plastic pool and allowed him “pool” time every evening. My efforts to
please him, however, were often short lived as he would always find a way to
sneak into the house (perhaps to punish me for leaving him home?) and dance all
over my dark hardwood floors with his soaking wet feet.
Yes, Jax and I understood each other…
And we still do.
Jax still watches me carefully, on so many nights, when I
just sit and cry. He finds a way to nudge me when he thinks a walk together
might help or softly snuggles his head into my lap, letting his tired brown eyes find mine for just a moment...as if to say 'I am here and you are ok".
I have stood by him through several bouts of bladder stones
and he has remained by my side long after the dinner invitations stopped and
the concerned visitors faded away.
While everyone else
has moved on, moved forward in a world I can’t bring myself to face without my
son, Jax reminds me everyday that I am alive and I am loved.
In my mind, there just isn’t anything unhealthy about that.
“I have found that when you are deeply troubled, there are
things you get from the silent, devoted companionship of a dog that you can get
from no other source.” Doris Day
