I went for a beautiful hike yesterday at Phillips Lake. Much like my summer of 2015, this one will be, in part, spent preparing for a long hike. We’re doing a group hike for Mike’s Deathiversary #4 – 24 miles over 3 days. I’m following a training plan, and when it says to walk 4 miles (like yesterday)  that’s what I do.

I was hiking along on this incredibly beautiful day, enjoying nature and the sunshine, and I kept thinking how much it felt like May of 2015 when I was in the same exact place, taking long walks. I remember how nervous I felt. How much it made me miss Ellie, our awesome dog. Something about being a girl out in the woods alone is a little anxiety-inducing, at least for me. I had (VERY) accidentally gotten between a mama and a baby bear cub on a mountain bike ride years ago, and that is always in the back of my mind. Ruger, my dog at the time, saved the day and the bear chased him instead of me and I got away just fine. Thankfully, so did the dog.

Not having a dog seemed so odd to me, having grown up with one by my side. Two years ago, I thought about that all the time and how much I missed Ellie. I also thought about how heart-wrenching it was to lose her. She was 14-1/2 and like one of our kids. We loved that dog so much. We had her longer than our kids, and we joked that we liked her better. The kids and I came home after a soccer game and she couldn’t get up. I carried her outside to go potty and to try to get her to eat, to no avail. I talked to my already-heartbroken, already grief-ridden kids and explained that if she wasn’t better in the morning, we would have to put her to sleep. After an evening of tears, we tried to sleep. I ended up staying up all night, willing this dog of mine to get up. Please, please, just be okay. We cannot take this right now.

No improvement by morning so I called the vet and we scheduled to go in for her last vet appointment. To a vet she had never met. Knowing that I did not have it in me to come home and dig a hole and properly bury her. Mike and I would have planted a tree and done a little doggie funeral, just for us, to say goodbye. Instead, I was coldly taking her into the first vet that had an appointment to get her out of her misery. Drew wanted to go but Emrie (wisely, maybe) just wanted to go to school and not have to think about it.

The staff at the vet’s office were very kind and empathetic. They clearly had dealt with this sort of thing before. They know that pets are a valuable part of our lives. They know that letting go is beyond difficult. What they did not know was that this was 60 days, on the dot, from the day Mike broke his leg. They did not know that we were barely hanging on and that this day would be one that I still, 3 years, 9 months, and 11 days later, consider to be one the hardest of my life. No one could understand that the days of losing Mike were shock-filled and grief left me in a weird daze. What they, nor I, realized, though, was that Ellie’s last day was wrought with emotion and I felt EVERYTHING and experienced it in slow-motion. No one could understand that watching my 13-year old son try to be a man and to hold it together to make it easier for me almost tore my heart out. I could see his world crumbling right before me and there was absolutely nothing I could do to prevent it. Watching that tough boy try so hard to be brave was too much. Seeing him cry so hard that he started throwing up in the vet’s parking lot almost pushed me over the edge. I have heard it said that watching your kids suffer is worse than suffering yourself. I’d add to that. It’s even worse when they are in agony and are still worrying about you. Trying to buffer the pain for you. Trying to be adults when they should be acting like self-centered, mouthy teenagers.

It’s no surprise that getting a new dog was not an easy step. Opening yourself, and especially your kids, up to that kind of potential heart break is not easy. I put down a deposit for Ramsey on the 2 year anniversary of Mike’s funeral and we picked him up a few days later. He has brought us a ridiculous amount of happiness. He is sweet, rowdy, snuggly, funny, and definitely the cutest dog in the world. He, like most dogs, loves life so much that he is in a tail-wagging good mood every minute. While I was hiking yesterday, I spent at least 2 of the 4 miles just being thankful. Thankful for those hikes in 2015 that made me miss having a dog so much that I couldn’t wait any longer. Thankful that I could suck it up and be brave enough to take the leap. Mostly just thankful for Ramsey.