Choosing to Love
Read: Philippians 2:1-8
Most of us remember the collective life changes we all experienced in March 2020. For me, those changes – and the later grief that accompanied so much of the pandemic – was made more profound by the loss of our 15 year old dog just a few weeks prior to the initial COVID shutdowns.
Woodley, our food and people-loving puggle, had been a near-constant in my life since college. And though I knew he would not be around forever, I didn't know how acutely I would feel his absence until after he was actually gone. In the early days after he died, every reminder he was no longer with us – from the almost empty peanut butter jars I used to save for him now languishing in the back of our fridge, to the many hairs still covering our clothes and furniture – felt so painful, I had trouble imagining how I could ever get another dog just to have to experience this pain again one day.
Of course, with time, my raw grief receded. And about a year later, I began offhandedly telling neighbors that I would love to dog sit for them, as I missed having a dog in the house. Thankfully, that offer led me to Ana, a rambunctious but loyal Airedale Terrier who very soon won over my heart and became a regular fixture in our home (thanks, in part, to her parents’ frequent travel schedule). I delighted in having a new animal buddy, and felt like I’d unlocked a new level of pet companionship: a part-time dog whose vet bills were paid by someone else. It felt like the perfect setup – that is, until Ana’s parents told me last year that they were moving out of state.
My initial sadness at the news Ana and her family were moving was quickly replaced by an unexpected emotion: pure gratitude for our time together. Having already lost Woodley, I knew I could handle saying goodbye to Ana, too. She stayed at our house during her final days in Michigan, as her parents packed for their move. I cherished our time together despite knowing it was likely our last. When their moving van was packed and I handed her off a final time, I had a tear in my eye but was grateful for the joy she had brought to my life. It was the definition of "bittersweet." And with those feelings, I knew I could handle getting another dog and one day saying goodbye to that one, too. Ana reminded me how much we, as humans, continue to choose love in the face of inevitable loss. That so many of us choose to love pets we’ll likely outlive is but one illustration of this universal reality.
For me, the Lenten season perfectly highlights the dichotomy of grief and love that is foundational to the suffering and joy we all experience on this earth. In times when the suffering of the world feels overwhelming, I am comforted by reminders of our capacity for unconditional love, including the love we share with our animals.
Beth Versical
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