Aftermath

I suppose just knowing that there is a season for everything satisfies the "why," but the question that keeps forming in my mind is the "how." There are times where I'm pouring myself a glass of water, or turning the key to the ignition of the car, or just towelling myself from a shower, and everything just gives way to the question of how a life could just cease to exist. I can't understand it; he was here, and now he's gone? How did that happen?

The pain is especially acute whenever my eye catches hold of one of the many photos of him that I've put up. It's something that no amount of science or theology can explain -- that feeling of sheer bewilderness.

***

The truth is that, before Rocky, I don't think I really even liked dogs. I'm still hesitant about labelling myself a "dog-lover"; I loved -- love -- Rocky, that I know, but I don't know if I can claim to love all dogs, just as there are people that I love with my life, but I'd never purport to embrace the entire human race. I wish I were that giving, but I can only try my best, a little every day.

The truth is that it wasn't love at first sight; not quite what you might've imagined, I bet. I think I was actually frightened of Rocky the first time we met. I'd been bitten by a neighbour's dog before -- I still have the scar on my right thigh to show for it -- and you know what they say about being bitten. So I really didn't see this coming -- I didn't see myself falling so hard, so fast, for this... dog. It took me a while to warm up to him, but the day I held out my fist to him -- for him to gnaw -- it was in that moment that I realised that I could be totally vulnerable with him, and he would never hurt me. For a pre-teen who was just getting a taste of puppy love (the human kind) and the corresponding heartbreaks, this was something new -- this was something wonderful.

The truth is that, while God gave me the ability to love, Rocky probably gave me the most practice.