I sound like a broken record and for that, I am sorry. This is grief and I have no sense of closure for this, not for myself and especially not for my son. My words and writing are all I have, so I hope you will bear with me. I hope this will be the last post like this for a while. – N
I wrote a post the day we met Brooklyn. You can read it here. I wrote about her overwhelmingly sweet, loving nature. I did not write more than that really because pictures taken by a dear friend told the story far better than my meager words could have hoped to.
My dear Brookie Cookie,
I cannot believe you are never coming home. I cannot believe that I will never see your face again, hear your tail thump against the floor, feel your cold nose nuzzling me awake. There will be no more morning, afternoon and evening walks. There will be no long chats as we did this or that.
Worse, there will be no sight of the beautiful language you spoke with your boy. People fret when they get a service dog for their child, especially a child like J. They worry that a bond will never occur. You eliminated that worry before we even came home. Your boy showed you that which was most precious to him and you learned, fast, to respect that. You learned that his touches on your tail, nose and ears all meant something. What? I have no idea, but you knew. He knew. You read him even better than me, his own mother, could. You could tell when to give him space or when to push up in his face and make him pay you mind rather than pay mind to that which troubled him. You overcame your lack of desire to give kisses to taste whatever crumbs graced his fingers or his cheeks. You laid close by him when he was shut down and waited until he was ready to engage again, leaving a paw within reach just in case he needed it. You played ball, gifted high-fives and loved him without question or qualification.
Until you, he could not walk through a store. You made it possible.
Until you, a baseball game was out of the question. You made it possible.
Until you, going to school was a battle. You made it possible.
Until you, his vision was unclear and unable to be diagnosed because the exam terrified him. You made it possible.
Until you, we had no peace and only a glimmer of hope. You turned our lives around.
There is no way in this world I could not love you as much as I love my sweet boy. You are a part of his heart and therefore, a part of my own. I would spend all those hours cooking you special meals and hand mixing your food and specially cleaning up after you all over again without question because it is for you and for him. I would walk on fire for you, Brookie. I hope you never, ever forget a home that loved you so deeply as ours. I hope you carry your purple teddy with you wherever you go and no one EVER takes that away from you. That was chosen special for you by a little boy who will never forget you, ever. You will be in the face of every golden he ever meets from now on and that teddy was his way of sharing with you his love of having a special cuddly toy without you getting into trouble.
You will always be in our hearts and we will always be here for you. I can’t accept that this is goodbye. I have to think that some day we will all see you again, even if we have to wait until heaven to do so.
With all my heart,