Potholes of the Soul

To reinforce this comment, how many of you have come home from a hectic day at work, or a short trip from a place you didn’t want to go to in the first place, and were greeted by a wet nose and wagging tail? You could walk in rich, poor, late or an hour early, yet the unconditional love you’re guaranteed will never be fraudulent. There’s no faking something four-legged, furry, and ecstatic to greet you.

On that note, someone I care about is in the process of losing the second of her sibling canines. Since birth, the worst abuse they had to suffer was a moist cotton cloth wiped across their jowls after they ate a home cooked meal. Other times they were chased out of bed in the morning so it could be made for them. Like the fledging bird which leaves the convicts nest, these pampered pets unknowingly filled the emotional cracks in someone’s life for years past. Now that they’re needed to fix another broken soul, there’s an emptiness that appears unfillable.

The loss of something loved is like the final act of an orchestra. That one strike of a triangle as the lights begin to dim. By itself the sound means nothing, but as a finale it never fails to express its own turmoil. Then, like that one movement trailing off into infinity, the things we cherish could never be forgotten, or ever become unimportant.

After we realize – like the note – their vessel was never ours to grasp. Their symphony can play on forever in our memories. But if we highlight their departure, we mistakenly take the focus off their healing powers. So after they repaired the damages of a lifetime of storms, the difficult part is not having to say goodbye.

The truly hard part is trying to say thank you.