Scars, Sons, and a Puppy

          

        Scars come in all shapes and sizes; you have them on your knees from learning to ride a bike, on your hands from accidently touching the hot pan, or maybe on your abdomen from a surgery. 

When we are hurt or cut, our body instantly sends collagen to the wound and very inefficiently distributes it, leaving a lasting reminder of our gash. Our skin can be left weaker and more tender, over time and special care the scar tissue can be stretched and “remodeled” to function properly, but if the wound is reopened again the process begins again and you are left with a mess.

           My husband and I sat down together last week and he said carefully, “We can’t keep him, we just can’t give him what he needs.” Although I logically agreed, it felt as though my scars were being ripped open-- my heart hurt.     

We got the dog last summer, just a few months after losing our son.  I have two daughters and a five-year-old son, so a boy dog seemed fitting—in our minds, if my son could not have his brother at least he could have a dog.  We picked him out from a litter our friends had.  He was a little piece of excitement for us; his loyal loving eyes stole our hearts. We named him Rufio and he brought a lot of chaos, and a lot of fun to our household.

            
         Through a series of unfortunate events over the last few months, it became clear to us that our neighborhood was not the best environment for him and by keeping the dog we may just be prolonging our children’s and our own inevitable pain.  My father in law wisely shared his opinion with my husband, confirming what we already knew-it was the right thing to let him go, he would be better off somewhere else.

            Telling my five year old that we were getting rid of his dog was a terrible moment as a mother. Holding him as he cried I was reminded how deep some scars run, they can thread their way deep into your body where there is more damage than the eye can see.

             Our pup was like the collagen in our family trying desperately to help close a wound he could never heal. As a family we threw our energy and focus on the dog, allowing the chaos of having a puppy distract us from what we didn’t have. 

            Giving him away was a logical and planned decision, but it didn’t change the fact that we felt helpless.  We tried to tell ourselves that he was just a dog, but he wasn’t, his entire place in our family had so much more significance, it was our feeble attempt at bringing at least a playmate in for our son.  We felt our scars opening, exposing the mess underneath letting us know there is still much healing that needs to be done.
          Saying good bye to a dog would never be so hard except for the connection between the loss of our baby and Rufio. It was a reminder that we are forever changed, that the death of our baby boy has left us more tender, and more easily wounded. We are not stronger, we are that much more dependent on God's strength and His mercy to get us through this life. Thankfully He is merciful and willing to carry us through.