As a daughter of a mother who struggled with severe mental illness I knew where sleepless nights could lead, and I was scared. I was also so very tired, mentally and physically.
About 3 a.m. one winter morning, after days and nights of no sleep and so much worry, I went online. I had no thought of where the next few clicks would take me. It took me to an advertisement for a labradoodle, a puppy.
I remember staring at the screen and revelling at how much the dog in the picture looked like my favourite dog from when I was child. Her eyes drew me to her and I knew she was mine.
I often say Rootbeer is Luke's, heart and soul, but she is mine, mind and body.
As Luke stole 10 minutes of sleep from his rage, and Dave snuck a few hours before he resumed the complicated calculations of a difficult job, I thought of next steps. I confess. I wasn't thinking straight.
With at least one of my children asthmatic and already owning a cat, getting a dog was a foolish thought, an expensive thought, an impossible thought.
I thought about her though. I didn't even know her and I knew she would change our life, my life. I just knew she was ours. It made absolutely no sense but I knew.
I ambushed David in the hallway as he began another long day. I knew his answer. We had discussed a dog before. The answer was always 'no'.
This time David said yes.
Go back to the beginning of this blog to learn about the journey to the country in a snowstorm to pick up a puppy who became a late addition to our family.
That was almost 11 years ago.
Today, at 5 p.m., a gentle veterinarian will arrive and he'll give Rootbeer a needle and she'll go to sleep in our arms.
It's impossible to think about tomorrow, today.
All I know is that because of Rootbeer, Luke recovered from that deep spiral into the abyss of a dark depression that threatened to hold him and us hostage indefinitely.
She is one of the best decisions I've ever made and she's proof that family is a feeling, and that feeling is love.
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