The bone in the back of your neck

In every tragic movie there are typically three stereotypes: 1) There's the person who cries hysterically, but mostly just for attention. 2) There's the person that never cared about the deceased person, or if they did, they didn't care very much and they never showed it, but suddenly care tremendously. 3) And there's the person that gets angry at everyone else as a result of their sorrow.

I will warn you now, this is going to be an emotional post. If you don't want to listen to me ramble, then...stop reading.

In the analogy above, I can pinpoint those three stereotypes to me and two of my siblings perfectly. I won't name them and which they are simply because it's not pertinent. However, I am the latter. Upon tragedy, I lash out at the world around me. Not to blame, I'm not that naive. But simply as a way to cope. I know it's not healthy or fair, but that's just how I am.

Almost 11 years ago, when I was 7 years old, my mother received a phone call from my father. It was an ordinary Friday/Saturday. The kids were all doing their chores dutifully, and my dad had been sent to WalMart on an errand for my mother. My mom gathered us in the living room, sat down on the large brick hearth and told us that we needed to finish our chores as quickly as possible, because dad had a surprise he was bringing home and we couldn't play with it until we were done. Because we were obedient little kiddos, we ran off as fast as our little feet could carry us to finish our chores. I swept our spacious kitchen floor eagerly, day dreaming about the swimming pool I was sure my father was bringing home for us. When we heard the engine of my dads car, we ran out the back door onto the deck, and looked over the railing. We watched as our dad pulled a small black something out of his gold Saturn, and head to the steep wooden steps. And that is when we met Atlas.

After my initial disappointment that it WASN'T a swimming pool quickly wore off, I was ecstatic. We had a puppy. As my father tells us, as he was walking into WalMart, there was a man giving away puppies. After getting my moms permission(haha) he got the darkest one he could. We named her Atlas, after the bone in the back of your neck. Because you're probably confused, I'll add this: my father is a Chiropractor.

She was a golden retriever/black lab/chow mix. She was the best dog you can imagine. We slept in a tent with her the first few nights, so she could bond with us as well as possible. She was such a patient dog. She never got mad when the youngest ones would sit on her, pretending she was a horse. She'd just flick her fat tail, breathing heavily out her nose once, and continue her nap. She was always kinda fat, cuz we're not the most athletic family. ;) But when I'd run with her, she was the happiest dog on the planet. She would grab her leash and bounce eagerly as I clipped it onto her collar, and she'd keep perfect pace with me as we ran.

I'm not gonna lie, she knew some of the coolest tricks. When my friends would come over, I would show them my favorite, which was playing dead. It seems ironic now... We would make a gun sign with our hands, point, and say 'bang', and she'd drop down, waiting for the release command.

I could post forever about how amazing my dog was, and how infinite my love for her. But I won't.

Friday evening, I brought my group of friends home from my date, and I went to pet my dear dog. The only problem was that she had an incredibly hard time standing up, and an even harder time walking.

She suffered from a stroke Friday evening, and she died this morning at 1 am. I tried to keep myself optimistic as long as possible, but as my mom came to me last night, about 3 hours before her death, I sobbed. I sobbed and sobbed as my father gave her a blessing, and as I scratched her ears and listened to her labored breathing. At this point, she couldn't even walk. She couldn't stand to eat, and didn't have the strength to chew. We had to syringe water into her mouth. We went to bed at midnight, but I couldn't sleep. You can't sleep, knowing your dog is in the next room with your parents, dying. Right after 1 am, I heard the broken sobs coming from both of my parents, and as I opened my door to check, PRAYING that by some miracle she was okay, I heard the words I'd been dreading for 11 years: "She just left us". The sorrow and pain I felt as I ran to her side cannot be expressed. My parents sat by her as she took her last breath, and her spirit left her body. I held onto her and sobbed, not wanting to believe she was gone.

We were lucky it was quick. I'm so glad that my poor, fat dog didn't have to suffer any longer.

I helped my father dig her grave this morning, feeling some of my love for her go into the labor of that grave. We facetimed with my sister so she could be there, as we carried her outside and all spoke of her life and the wonderful memories she gave us, united as a family in this time of sorrow.

In church, we sang "I need thee every hour", which touched my soul. I cried, which I thought was embarrassing, but it was okay. It's times like that that I know God is watching. He knew my sorrow, and placed certain things in my path in the 3 hours of church that reminded me of my great blessings.

As Sunday School began, my wonderful teacher went around the room, asking us each how we were doing. Everyone responded with, "oh I'm fine. I did this this week which was cool." When he turned to me, I stared at my hands in my lap and muttered, "I'm doing okay" and refused to look up. He softly said, "I heard what happened. I know it's hard. And it's okay if you don't feel like participating in class today." and the tears spilled over, pooling in my hands as I nodded in affirmation and gratitude. At the conclusion of the class, which was about blessings and tender mercies by the hand of God, I stood up to leave, and he enveloped me in a hug and said, "Aurora, if there's anything I can do, please tell me. Please."

You have no idea how hard it was to respond as my eyes became waterfalls. I was just beginning to calm down, sitting on the couch outside the next meeting room, when one of my very favorite women walked up, saying something about relief society. She stopped dead when she saw my puffy eyes and stained face. She sat and cried with me as I explained the death. Every time someone else asked what was wrong, another wave of tears would come over me, and I'd have to choke out an explanation.

After all of this, after the hugs, prayers, kisses, and promises that it would be okay, I realized that she couldn't have left on a better day. On a day when the spirit was so strong in church, when the right people were in my path.

I love my dog. Seeing her go is the hardest thing I've experienced up to this point in my life. She will always be my childhood friend, patient and loving, ready to take a beating to protect us.

Atlas, you are missed. May you rest in peace. I love you.