Our hospice dog passed away quietly on my husband’s lap a few days ago. And the emotions around his passing in particular have been wide, varied, complex. We are happy that he is not longer in pain and suffering. We no longer have to worry if he has eaten enough. We loved on him and spoiled him this last year he has danced with death. Yet, we miss him.

But his death marks the end of something a bit ephemeral. All dogs’ lives bookend events in life (the fact we did NOT watch Marley & Me after this dog’s death is a small grace). Laser DeBroglie marks events in our life that are full of life, grace, hope, excitement as well as regret, sadness, struggles, difficulties. I’ll not enumerate all, there is no need. I write about dirty laundry enough as it is.

I had four children at home; the youngest just one year old. Husband just started a new business and career; a complete change from what he had done in his twenties. We recently lost his favourite dog; the dog of his bachelorhood, the dog who loved my daughter more than me, the dog who protected my man and little girl fiercely. To replace that one dog, my husband brought home two.

When we picked out Laser DeBroglie, we saw all the puppies in a small enclosure in the yard of the owner. We decided that each kid (remember there are four of these little wild ones) would get a turn inside the pen to help choose the new puppy. Each kid, beginning with the oldest down to the youngest (one year old) let little round lab-mix puppies jump, fall, lick, bite them. And we all knew which one was ours. The fattest, biggest, roly-poliest one there. Our Laser DeBroglie whose name is reminiscent of small, fast packets of light.

We brought Laser home. And I did everything I could to not fall apart. I couldn’t keep up with a puppy (who grew to the size of Clifford the Big Red Dog – not joking), a baby, teaching, homeschooling, helping my husband with his business, housework, meals (we eat a bit differently and so this is a huge task), and anything else that fell in my lap, because I was bad at saying NO. And never underestimate the work involved in keeping relationships in the midst of doing life – me with my husband, me with my kids, me with my family, me with my friends, me with my coworkers, me with my students, me with my God. I sometimes lost me. And sometimes lost relationships. I am sorry about that.

Needless to say, Laser along with the adult dog we adopted were never trained. Considering that they were outside dogs, this didn’t seem to be a bother. But they didn’t stay outside and wild children don’t stay wild outside and life would get, well, wild inside. The dirt that decorates a desert decorates a house just as easily. And rocks that scatter the landscape can scatter in rooms just as easily. The messes are never ending. I am not sorry about that.

My youngest and I looked through family photo albums while the middle kid drove daddy and doggie to the vet one last time. While they were actively saying goodbye, we were remembering Laser’s life. Only none, NONE, of the yearbooks have pictures of him. This year, he will be in the book.

And I slowly realized how difficult those early years were. I scorned this innocent dog because in my mind, he was that last straw. I hid my feelings because everyone loved him. Seriously, he was the sweetest dog. If you asked me, I’d honestly tell you that I loved him. But I didn’t always like him. I didn’t always like life and responsibility. I didn’t like fighting for everything. For a clean house, healthy (and expensive) food, to pay bills, to keep the dogs outside, to get kids and students to do their homework, to have clients and income for my husband, to have peace.

His last day, Laser whined and it broke my heart. There was nothing I could do for him. He knew he was dying and I knew he was dying. All I could say was that it was ok, but is death really ok? He was a good dog. He served his role well. He never asked for an apology from me. He wasn’t waiting for me to tell him my nasty thoughts directed toward him were underserved. He wasn’t unforgiving towards me. He looked at me like he was the one doing something wrong. Like he was disappointing me. All these years, he served me, loved me, watched over the kids for me, kept the yard safe for me, and never knew that I was overwhelmed. He just loved.

I survived those challenging years with scars and a greater appreciation for grace, mercy, and forgiveness. Yet, here I am learning another lesson from my dead dog. My dog loved when I didn’t have it in me. My dog loved when I was too tired to care. My dog loved when all I could do was breathe. My dog loved. And I did nothing to deserve his love.

Where have I heard this before? Being loved even when I’m not worthy of love? Being loved, because the One who loves simply and completely loves me?

There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. We love because he first loved us.

1 John 4:18-19

In the span of Laser DeBroglie’s life, I now have five children (a new son my daughter married). I still help with my husband’s business. I still homeschool, but my class decreased significantly. I still tutor once in a while. I still have home, meals, bills, chores, never ending laundry and dishes. All the things that make life overwhelming. Yet, all the things that make life worth living.

Because I have love.

Not that I do anything to deserve love. Simply because He loves and His love is displayed in my dog’s life. His love is seen in the grace my family gives me. And I give them. His love is seen in tender mercies from friends and strangers. And I give tender mercies. His love is seen in the forgiveness others extend to me even when I have no idea that I have hurt them. And I forgive even those who have hurt me and never repented.

God’s love is displayed in this space, in this time because He loves in all space, in all time.