Sweet Sorrow

I've never made any bones about the fact that I like to be alone. It never bothers me to have an empty house, with just me and the dogs rambling around. I can't say it's quiet because it never is. There's always barking and running going on, an occasional shriek from the bird or the sound of the chinchilla running on his stainless steel wheel. But I like my solitude -- it helps me think, gives me freedom to create other worlds inside my head until they are ready to spit out in words. I'm not big on making small talk, either. I ramble ridiculously when I write but I'm not much into speaking unless I have something to say.

But, at the moment, being alone is hard. Watching a beloved dog die in front of your eyes is never easy. He doesn't stray too far from where I am -- but, then again, none of them do. They are my posse and I know the sound of each of them -- they each have a rhythm that identifies them without me seeing them.

But, even though being alone is hard, I don't really want to be around anybody, other than my family. This morning was one of the few times, in years, which I haven't attended my Tuesday Bible study. Though it is the perfect place to share "blessings and burdens", I just didn't want to talk about it because I knew I'd fall apart. And I didn't feel like spending 2 1/2 hours pretending to be okay. So, I stayed home today. I sent an e-mail to the teacher so they will be lifting my family up in prayer.

I wish Mark was home but he can't stay simply to be with me. He has patients to see and he's already stressed out because of the move to the new job at the first of the year. He hurt his back yesterday and is suffering -- physically and mentally -- for the most part, in silence. We cry together but say little. Watching Carrie's pain is nearly unbearable. She knows everything -- at 16, she needs to know. She is about to lose her special buddy and there's nothing I can do to make it any better, other than to be here.

We say goodbye in increments. I pull Butler into my lap and just hold him. I tell him, like a child, that I love him and I kiss the white spot on his head. He wags his little tail at me and lets me know, it will be okay.

And we will be okay. This is not the first time and it won't be the last. There are four more dogs behind him -- and, Lord knows, how many ahead. I can't imagine a life not filled with canines. If you gave me the option of seeing the world or having dogs, I'd choose to have dogs. Even though parting is sweet sorrow, it's worth every minute.