I did something a little different this morning. I sat on the porch to watch the sun rise.
This morning was cool, comfortable. A handful of cars sped down the county road with a whoosh, paying no attention to me as I write.
The sky was clear, save for a few wisps of clouds. The deep indigo of the night sky was fading into an airy baby blue above me. The whisper of blue melting into a bright, bold orange where the clouds sit patiently, waiting to do their supporting part in the grand entrance.
One by one, I watch rays of sunshine stretch over the horizon. Illuminating the bottom of the clouds in a glorious yellow glow. It was beautiful, peaceful. A type of communion.
Before I could get lost in the moment, a hard breeze blows on my back, reminding me that we’re here on business. So I wait on the sun with the rest of the world and let my mind move into why I’m actually here.
I wonder what these mornings meant to my service dog. Until 24 days ago, his cold, wet nose would nudge me awake in the dark to go let him outside. Then, he would just sit in these tranquil minutes as the day formed around him. The stillness that exists in the moments between night and day were his haven, his zen.
Which is great, except he’s a massive dog with a ton of fur, and on weekends or after chemo, I couldn’t leave him out there and go back to bed. So I spent years letting him out, then laying on the couch to wait for him to come to the door. On especially hot days, a single, booming bark would startle me awake – his version of a demand.
A familiar ache starts to well up inside me, but I stay where I’m at and watch more of the sun’s rays fill the sky, washing away the indigo of the night sky. I soak up the stillness, savoring the shot of peace and splash of tired mixed with the anticipation of what Monday will bring. And I wait.
When I finally see the tip of the sun peeking over the precipice of the hill country splayed out before me, the flash of a memory shocks me. Sweet, warm eyes look at me over a nose full of freckles. We called them his “people eyes” because of their depth, their soul. Their way of expressing everything he was feeling. And instead of the anguish that has been crippling me for weeks, I found the presence that I’ve been so desperate to feel again.
I found what he was taking from these mornings.
Contentment. Strength. Presence. Peace.
I watch the sun continue to climb over the horizon, lazy and defiant. Unaware of its grandiosity and unbothered by who is waiting for its debut. They can wait. “This is my time,” it says.
As if on cue, the clouds resume their drifting, with one leisurely moving in front of the sun, buying me a few more moments to soak in the memories of my big boy.
The first tear spills onto my cheek just as the sun moves out from behind the clouds so I can feel the warmth on my face. And as quickly as the memories came, they went, taking the grounding presence of my best friend with them.
For the 24th day, I let the tears fall.
When the sun has chased away the crisp edges of a serene morning and covered the scene in front of me in a warm, honey-like glow, I get up to go back inside.
“I will be back,” I want to promise him, but he’s already gone.
A familiar frustration rises in my chest and to my own surprise, I can’t help but smile. Samson doesn’t care when I’ll be there, he just knows that’s where he’ll be.
I never knew just how much he carried for me until I had to carry it all myself. But even in his passing, he’s as steady as the morning sun, watchful of his home, and indifferent to any demands. No, when I’m done with trying to boss him around, I know where to find him. Waiting, protecting, and loving.
Thanks for everything, Bones-y. I love you so much.
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