Reading "Rescuing Sprite": Today's At-Home Therapy

It has been almost a month since Brennan passed away, and I am not really sure where I am in my grief. I definitely do not cry every day like I did the first week or two, but I still cry at random times. David and I still miss him so much, and I think we always will. I think of Brennan every day, but I figure that's just a part of my life from now on, too. It is amazing how quiet the house has become; I find myself longing to hear him to shake the charms on his collar or take big gulps of water from his bowl. We finally put away his things last Sunday--his toys and food bowls went into the front closet, and his bed is under our bed. His ashes came home to us a few weeks ago, and those sit on a shelf in our bedroom along with his collar, blanket and bandanna. It has been a difficult few weeks, but we often find ourselves talking about happy memories of Brennan without getting teary-eyed.

Today, however, was a different story for me. A front passed through last night and the winds howled for about 24 hours. The winds were so loud that I tossed and turned all night, and I am typically a good sleeper. I even got up and tried to rest on the couch, but that didn't work, either. Thus, I am tired, which makes me more susceptible to being sad or at least to being in the frame of mind to think about sad things. I got my hair cut and colored this morning, and I was in a good mood. I haven't had that done since we moved here, and I really enjoy it because it is one of the few things I do to pamper myself.

After the appointment, I decided to stop by Half Price Books. A friend at work had recommended a book called Rescuing Sprite by Mark Levin. She and her husband lost a dog a few years back, and her mother had given her the book as a gift. She warned me it was sad, and I sure don't think she was suggesting that I read it any time soon. I found the book at the store, purchased it, and got in my car to drive home. All I had to do is read the cover and I started to cry. The book is about the joy and sorrow of the human-dog bond, and the words and photos on the cover struck me deep.

I made it home and ate lunch. David was going to the gym to swim, so I decided to read the first chapter of the book and try to take a nap. That was at 2:30. At 6:00, I emerged from the bedroom having read the entire book. Granted, it was only a few hundred short pages, but I read it cover to cover without stopping, with tears rolling down my face almost the entire time.

Sounds depressing, huh? Maybe a little, but I found it cathartic. The author's story is similar to ours. A dog he considered a best friend, and the loss of the dog. Sprite had a tumor (similar to Brennan), and the family had time to say goodbye and "prepare," just like we did. However, just like us, it was still the most difficult thing they had ever done. I wrote down my favorite quote from the book:

"No time on earth is long enough to share with those we love or prepare our hearts for good-bye."

It was comforting to read about the things I have experienced -- the guilt he felt after putting his dog to sleep and how he wondered if he and his wife had done the right thing, even wondering if he had "killed" this dog who had trusted him. These are all thoughts that have gone through my head more than once since Brennan's passing, and the more I read the more I understand that these are often the thoughts of someone who has to make this tough decision for the dog he or she loves. It was comforting to read that he still thinks of his dog every day and misses his dog every day, just like we do. None of those memories can be taken away, and they are part of what he calls the joy and sorrow of loving a dog. Again, this was all difficult to read, but in the end, a reminder that no matter how hard those last few months were for us and Brennan, we would do it all over again because he brought so much joy into our lives.

I have been pondering getting another dog, but David says he's not ready. That's completely understandable. It hasn't been that long and he needs more time to grieve. However, I hope someday we can adopt another dog from the shelter and attempt once again to give a good life to a dog that hasn't been given one in the past. The new dog will never be Brennan, nor would I want him to be. He or she will be different in ways that we cannot imagine. If Brennan taught us anything, it is that a dog will give us more joy and unconditional love than we, as flawed humans, deserve, and I hope someday we will allow ourselves to experience that wonderful love again, in a new and different way.