Bringing Life Into a Lonely House

This snippet has nothing to do with camping, The 1938 Project, or family history. But I recently hosted dinner for the people who are featured in this story, and I want to share it with them, and now also with you. The nice thing about my “Snippets and Tidbits” page is that I can pretty much post anything I want. This story is one I wrote some months ago in answer to a writing prompt I had been given. I use prompts from time to time as a launch pad for topics to write about, and have a cache of short essays or poems that sit in a folder on my computer. The prompts stretch my imagination and challenge me to put words and structure to some of the thoughts and emotions that float around in my head. I may post other pieces from that folder from time to time, but for now, this public thank you to some special friends will be enough.

Those of you who have met Sadie may or may not know the back story of how I got her, or why.

The Sadie Story

I was cautious, but eager. As I waited in the rainy, damp morning air for Karen and Jill, a growing excitement simmered beneath my calm exterior. Breakfast was the enticement, icing on the cake, but the main event would come after. We agreed ahead of time that our outing was just for fun, no commitment. Up to that point, I had been all talk and very little action. Adopting a dog was a reality only in my imagination, not in my actual life. Although I had spent hours searching adoption websites, had been vetted by one agency, and had actually met a dog that I thought I wanted, I had not been able to make the leap and actually bring a new pet home. By the time Karen and Jill called about the event in Detroit and sweetened the outing with the breakfast invitation, I had resigned myself to maintaining my status quo of loneliness for the foreseeable future.

As we waited for our breakfast, I outlined my adoption criteria. First, I wanted a medium sized adult dog. I figured 30 to 40 pounds would be perfect, big enough to be respectable, but small enough that I could pick her up or hold her on my lap. Second, I was looking for a mixed breed that had fluffy, longer fur, a swooshy tail and a flowing coat like one might see on a collie or golden retriever. Third, I knew I did not want a puppy. I had not had a dog since I was a child and was sure that a mature, trained dog would be a better fit for me.

The food arrived and we munched in comfortable silence. I thought about the chain of events that had led to the three of us being together that day. The previous year had been one long nightmare. I was finally ready to infuse my life with new and happier diversions after the horrific eight months that had followed my husband’s brain cancer diagnosis in June 2017. The seemingly endless succession of doctor appointments, radiation and chemotherapy treatments, and even a clinical trial, had done nothing to slow the cancer’s destructive march through his brain.  As the disease progressed, I was forced to stand by and watch as the brilliant scientist I had been married to for thirty-seven years was cruelly stripped of his ability to think, speak, stand or walk on his own.

In the aftermath of my husband’s death in February 2018, I left my life and family behind for almost two months and escaped to East Africa and Europe. The ordeal had left me emotionally exhausted, and I needed a break from places that were full of memories of our life together and daily reminders that I was now alone. The experience on the other side of the world was cleansing and helped me put my own situation in perspective. As I provided legal assistance to women who were survivors of domestic violence, and frightened teenage boys in detention, I realized there is a much bigger world of tragedy and loss than what was going on in my own life. The legal system in Tanzania can be hard on women and youth, and my work there forced me to consider circumstances outside of myself and focus on a larger purpose of trying to make a difference, even if on a very small scale. It was healing and rewarding work.

Now I was back, it was August, and soon I would be returning to work after my yearlong leave of absence. The thought of coming home each day to a silent, empty house was foreboding. Even after my trip to Africa, I still had no motivation to do anything except sit around aimlessly surfing the internet or watching junk TV for hours or days on end. I knew I needed to honor my own grief process, but I also knew that being immobilized by my grief was not healthy. Karen and Jill had taken the horrific journey of my husband’s illness with me as only good friends can, and they were willing to do anything they could to help me forge a path forward and find joy again. When I told them I was considering a dog, they leapt into action and couldn’t wait to tell me about the adoption event in Detroit. The invitation to breakfast was their way to make sure I made it there (clearly they knew that food is one of life’s great motivators).

We finished breakfast and headed to the pet shop. A big van was in front of the store and when we walked in we saw a small fenced enclosure in the middle of the floor. The first thing I noticed was a litter of very young pit bull pups, scampering around like little rabbits. They were pretty small and had very short hair and I knew none of those puppies were for me. Then I saw Sadie standing apart, bigger than the others and clearly from a different litter. I knelt down and we made eye contact. She cocked her blond head and looked at me with her bright, dark eyes and I could have sworn she was wearing mascara. Her face was shaped like a deer, with a long nose and ears that stuck straight out to the side. Her expression was cheerful and curious, and I could see her smiling at me. Her fur was a beautiful golden honey-brown, blending into white on her legs and belly, and I didn’t even notice that it was short and dense rather than the long flowing coat I thought I wanted. I watched as she playfully bounced around inside the small enclosure, sniffing at everything and everybody. The fact that she was a puppy had no relevance for me at that point.  I picked her up and we nuzzled. I forgot all about my checklist.

This was taken the day I brought Sadie home.

Looking back almost five years later, bringing Sadie into my life was one of the best things I did during that first grieving year. She loves me unconditionally, is always ecstatic to see me when I’ve been away, listens without judgment to everything I say, and takes her job of protecting me and my house very seriously (sometimes to a fault…). She also makes sure I go for walks even when I don’t feel like it, and keeps me safe by letting me know with loud barks or little woofs whenever someone rings the doorbell or knocks (or walks in front of the house, or closes a car door across the street, or delivers a package, or if I drop something inside the house that sounds like it could be a knock at the door). She’s twice the size of the dog I had intended to get, and her tail is more like a thick rope than a swooshy brush, but I’ve concluded that checklists can be overrated. She is exactly the companion I needed at the time I needed her, and we rescued each other that day. She has helped me cultivate the resilience I needed to embrace the new life forced upon me by tragedy. We continue to forge new paths together and live life on our own terms, finding delight in the small things that make life joyous and meaningful, even in the presence of profound loss.

Sadie will be accompanying me on my two month journey to the west coast in October and November.