Ace

“What we once enjoyed and deeply loved we can never lose, for all that we love deeply becomes a part of us.”
— Helen Keller

Ace was three years old when my son adopted him.  They found each other through my daughter, a veterinarian, who had a breeder ask if she knew anyone who wanted a Newfie.  He was a “failed” show dog because he was too tall and had crooked teeth.  Ace and my son were made for each other.  Both of them big and strong, with the softest and most generous of hearts. 

Several years ago, the whole family went to a beautiful old hotel in Colorado Springs for Christmas.  All the  dogs came with us.  There were more dogs than people and they were all good size, the smallest being 50 pounds.  But Ace was the showstopper.  Tall, jet black and weighing in at 170 pounds.  Most people mistook him for a bear or a small horse. 

I joked with my son that it was like traveling with Brad Pitt.  We could see people pointing and whispering and every two feet, people would stop my son and ask to pet Ace.  The next question was always, “Can I take a picture with your dog?”  Everyone wanted to know what kind of dog he was, if their kids could pet him, how much he ate, how much he weighed.  They marveled at the size of his paws.  Small children would come over and crawl on him like he was a giant, fluffy blanket they were trying to curl up inside.   Parents not worried for a second that their child was in any kind of danger.  And Ace?  He was kind and patient.  Laying there drooling and wondering what all the fuss was about. 

Despite his size, he was not a guard dog.  It didn’t fit his demeanor, but it was also quite comical.  My favorite videos were from the camera inside the house.  My son had a glass front door and Ace would hide whenever he saw the mailman coming up the walk.  Running behind the wall and then slowly peaking around the corner to see if the mailman was still there.  He reminded me of Ferdinand the Bull.  Much happier in the yard smelling the flowers than protecting the house or fighting with anyone unknown. 

Ace lived to be 10 1/2.  Quite an age for a dog of that size.  But on Tuesday, he left us.  Kindly, quietly, without complaint.  His heart still quite intact, but his body just no longer willing.  The world is missing a very special soul. 

It has been a wild two weeks in my family and I have been spending a lot of time in hospitals, both human and animal.  There has been fear and grief, sadness and joy, birth and death.  I left one hospital after losing Ace and drove to the NICU to cuddle with my new grandson.  Gratitude and grief walking hand in hand. 

I woke this morning feeling lost and a little untethered.  I was reminded again why I start every day with “thank you for this day and all that it may bring.”  The truth is, we never know what any day will hold.  We can plan. We can prepare. We can try to control the edges of things. But how do you truly prepare for the unknown?

In my journal this morning, I wrote about how easy it is to get lost in fear and sadness. In some strange way, they can feel like the safest emotions.  Pain, at least, feels certain. Predictable. Almost protective.  Joy and gratitude are more vulnerable.

To say out loud how much we love someone, or how lucky we are that disaster passed us by, can sometimes feel like we are tempting fate. As if by acknowledging our happiness we might remind the universe that we are still here.  Still loving. Still hoping.  And somewhere deep in our ancient wiring there is a quiet voice that whispers:  Don’t draw attention. Stay small. Stay guarded.

But life does not really work that way.  The same day can hold grief and wonder. Loss and beginning. A goodbye in one room and a fragile new life in another.  Maybe the work is not trying to protect ourselves from that truth.  Maybe the work is simply waking up each morning and repeating:  Thank you for this day and all that it may bring.

Because whatever it brings, joy or sorrow, birth or goodbye, it means we were here to witness it.  To participate

And love, even when it hurts, is still the reason we notice any of it at all..

Much. Love,

Lisa

If you enjoyed this blog and believe someone else might enjoy it as well, please feel free to forward.  If this was forwarded to you and you would like to hear more, please sign up below to receive future emails. 

Lisa Hamil is a founding member and host for The SOS Collective, an online international women’s recovery and support group.  However, this blog and any classes or coaching offered by Lisa Hamil LLC are separate from and not affiliated in any way with The SOS Collective.