Joy Trumps Grief

   Joyce McDonald Hoskins

I cradled Cinder on my lap for the last time. She had brought me fourteen years of joy and deserved to be held as she took her last breath. I took her home from the vets and buried her in the garden. I cried for days.

            Get a puppy the vet had advised.

            But I couldn’t. I couldn’t go through the grief again. The faithful dog that had sensed my needs could not be replaced. For hours I would relive our years together. From puppyhood to aged dog, I remembered it all. There would never be another dog as sweet as Cinder.

            I adopted her while I was grieving over the death of my father. My sons were twelve and fifteen when I brought her home. She was with me though the loss of all four of their grandparents. She was there when my oldest son broke his back in an accident. Her head lay on my lap when my husband was diagnosed with a serious illness.

            When my youngest son grew into a young sailor, she knew I needed her by my side while he was stationed in harm way. I couldn’t have faced the evening news without her and she knew it. She just knew it.

            No. There would never be another dog like Cinder and I didn’t want to face the pain of loss again.

            But the house felt empty. The absence of her presence by my computer while I wrote haunted me. I told myself I’d get used to it. I didn’t.

            And then I saw it. My husband had circled the advertisement and left it on the table. A five month old puppy. The owners didn’t have time to care for her.

            It wouldn’t hurt to look. So I did. Maggie, the poodle with a family without time, instantly velcoed herself to me. She was my dog from the moment we met. She moved into my house, took to my computer room, and became my buddy. Instantly.

            She is growing older now and I know the time will come when she will leave me. But the great truth I learned is: The joy we share will live long after the parting tears.