Column by Linda R. Jones
My father used to improvise messages from the Bible. “You know, the Lord says he won’t give you more than your shoulders can carry. But every now and then I tell the Lord my shoulders are only so wide.” I was never sure if it was a language barrier, if he wanted to add his spin, if had seen “Fiddler on the Roof” too many times, or all of the above. His improvisation hit me hard this week.
On Tuesday, my little dog, Bubbles, went in for a routine surgery. The surgery went well and then something went very wrong. An undetectable tumor sent a blood clot to her brain and she had a massive stroke. The vet kept her breathing until I got there. I felt her last little breath leave her little body.
What I remember from the haze of the aftermath is screaming inside my head, “Not my little dog, my little girl, my Bubbles! It hasn’t even been a year since my father died. Not my dog! I can’t take this!”
That afternoon I started writing in my journal, but in quotes.
“She was not yours to own. She was a gift for you to love. I spared you pain. She did not suffer. You did not have to make an end of life decision for her. She is a constant reminder of how precious every moment is every day.”
I don’t know why I wrote that. I told myself I would not wallow in my sorrow. I gave myself one day to shut down and cry until my eyes were swollen and then I would find something good from my loss.
My daughter wrote an elegant post on Facebook. I think it went viral. Within hours of her post, so many people reached out with love and compassion. We had texts, calls, visits, and even gifts sent to us. I was stunned. Why was there so much care and concern for my little 13-pound Bubbles and my loss? Our furry companions are innocent and humans do have the capacity for unconditional love.
I asked my cousin for clarification on my father’s Biblical improvisation. She had a few laughs and sent me an abundance of passages and one huge article. I read the information she sent and then stumbled upon a passage I have in my parlor where I write and reflect every day. How did I miss it? It was in a book I purchased years ago titled, “Dance While You Can,” by Lance Wubbels. I thought the book was literally about dancing when in fact it is an inspirational book to remind us to enjoy life to its fullest; perhaps I wasn’t that far off because dancing would be included.
“For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)
That quote was so familiar. I turned and saw a plaque, titled “Journey,” my children had given to me when my father died. The same quote. I see it every day but only realized then that it was there. Hope.
In our losses and sadness we are engulfed with love, compassion, and hope if we open our hearts to it. It was the loss of my innocent dog that opened my heart. I will never forget her, I will remember all the joy and love from her, and, yes, I will feel the sting of tears. I will not wallow in sorrow and I will dance while I can.
I picture Bubbles running across the Rainbow Bridge and barking, “Open the gates! There’s a guy in there that goes by Opa or Pop! He’s a German butcher and now he can feed me all the scraps he wants without my human scolding us because we’ll stay healthy forever!” Then she sits ever so beautifully, God touches her, and welcomes her Home.
My healing journey continues. Join me. There is hope. Bring your furry companion. And we shall dance while we still can.
(In loving memory of my family member, my furry companion, my little girl, my little innocent dog, Bubbles. She left delicate paw prints on my heart. And, my father, Henry Alfred Rudolph. PS, Pop. Don’t feed her too many scraps.)
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