Grief

I left work a little early today to take care of a few errands before we go into our last long class weekend of our 3 years together.

As we quite literally sit in a classroom for 18 hours between Friday evening and Sunday afternoon, I won't have time to run necessary errands so took that time today.  One of those errands took me to the vet clinic to pick up my dog's annual pack of heartworm preventative. When the tech pulled up the screen to verify my info, I saw displayed there both dogs.

My eyes were immediately drawn to Fire's name, and the big, capitalized, starred letters spelling out "***EUTHANIZED****"

I had to swallow hard for a moment, remembering that day all too clearly. This afternoon, as I arrived during the office lunch hour, I was taken back to that terrible Tuesday afternoon, the raw grief coming back to the surface as I recalled  my sorrowful exit from the empty office during that same quiet hour.

It was a beautiful July day, much like today, it was sunny, and when I returned home, my car was empty. The agonized presence of my greyhound was no longer there; instead I was left in a different kind of agony, one that slowly ebbed away over the following days, weeks, and months.

Fire was the first pet I ever had to have "put to sleep" as the euphemism goes. It was probably the most difficult thing I have ever had to do, and to this day I have no idea how I was able to drive to the vet clinic and then back home.

I didn't expect to run into that particular ghost today, but there it is. It will make my weekend even more bittersweet, for a few days after Fire died, I began my graduate school career. It is a reminder that even in our most joyful occasions, we carry our suffering and together, they form and perfect us in ways only God can see.

Dang, sometimes I miss that big goofy greyhound so much!