On a cloudy Monday, the day after the first of the year, Jack took his last breath and the sun came out. I'd like to think at that moment, the doors to wherever all great dogs go opened up to let him in, letting all the rays of light escape from the clouds and in through my living room window. What was once grey turned to gold. And in that saddest moment, still holding his paw between my hands, there was peace.
The word "sadness," as I read just recently, didn't always carry the same meaning that we attach to it now. It's derived from the Latin word "satis" meaning "fullness," which means not so long ago, to be sad wasn't to despair, but to be filled with an awareness of a feeling or experience; a surge inside with no telling end. Grief and joy all at once. So what once felt like the absence of hope, is now just the dwellings of love. And love is everlasting.
I hope my "sadness" is felt all the way up into those grey clouds and reaches past the doors that let him in and the light out, so that he knows how much he was loved and how much happiness he brought to our family. I will always miss you, Jack.
Until then, I'll be seeing you.