Two years after my Rachel died, another furry friend found us and became part of our family. As I write this, the little brown Chihuahua we named Tomas (pronounced toh-MAHS) sleeps at my feet curled up in a ball.
We grieved terribly when we lost Rachel, and we still feel her presence in so many ways. I could never bring myself to take her photo off of my desk. Just a few days ago, I found some of her fur stuck on the underside of a chair in the basement. We hear her voice when the wind blows through the chimes in the garden, one of her favorite places to be. It was only in the last few months that I could talk about her without crying and feeling the lump in my throat (though I feel it now).
The people who understood my grief best just let me co-exist with it and never pushed me for an answer about when I was going to get another dog. Each one is simply irreplaceable, so it's kind of like asking when you're going to get another husband or parent. As if getting a new one would erase the pain and sadness anyway. The most comforting message of all, the one that stuck with me and gave me hope was this: "Another dog will find you when it's time."
And there he is--Tomas, the little Chihuahua. I'd forgotten what joy a dog brings to your life: gazing into your eyes, the excited wagging of the tail when you come into the room, snoring when sleeping peacefully, playing fetch and learning all the tricks you can teach him, snuggling with you on the couch. I'm happy to wake up to him in the morning and happy to come home to him when I've been away. He's a loving friend and constant companion. He is a joy to me.
