It would have been a lot of work for her. It would be good for her, but was she ready to take the leap?
She had mentioned wanting to adopt a dog a year ago. The company would serve her well, after losing my stepfather.
The dog came up from time to time.
"Mom, have you gotten to the shelter yet?" was a question we frequently asked her.
"No, next weekend," she'd reply before the subject was dropped for months.
She didn’t mean to drop the subject, but life gets in the way, as it does for all of us. How many times do we want to do something good for ourselves that never gets done, out of routine, or circumstance, or fear?
A few weeks ago, I mentioned to her that I was taking in a new foster dog, a Chihuahua coming from a shelter in one of the southern states.
“Maybe I’ll adopt it,” Mom mentioned nonchalantly. I didn’t think much of her comment at the time.
What were the chances of this dog being the right fit, or this being the right “moment?”
But then I met her dog.
Carrie greeted my mother at the door and ran around her in circles. She hopped right onto my mother’s lap when she sat on the couch. She followed her from room to room.
They took a walk together. Carrie sat by her feet outside as my mother read a magazine.
“I want to take her,” Mom said with conviction.
Mom will take Carrie home with her this weekend. During our last phone conversation, she gave me an animated recap of her trip to the pet supply store in preparation of Carrie’s arrival. She talked about Carrie’s doggie bed and the brand of small breed pet food she would try. She mentioned the walks they would take and how she thought it would be fun to bring Carrie back to our house on her visits so that the kids could play with her. She spoke with an enthusiasm that I had not heard in years, as if there was a new bright spot helping to fill a tiny part of that void, the one we feel when we lose someone we love dearly.
Carrie won’t bring my stepfather back, but Carrie has given Mom a new focus.
Even when we start to lose hope, sometimes, if we are fortunate, hope finds us.
©2012 Ilene Evans