The word for dog in Hebrew is Kelev, which literally means like the heart. Puppies are Kelevlev, meaning like the heart’s heart, which is so clearly where they touch us, a spiritual gift we are at times too busy to appreciate. Perhaps we fear loving them so deeply because we know the pain of losing them is so overpowering.
I just want my dog.
Her last dinner was mac-and-cheese, which I hand fed her. Her last breakfast was from a box of Girl-scout cookies. The last words she heard were “I will always love you” and her last moments were spent in my arms. As she drifted away I watched her whiskers twitch the way they did when she searching for a hidden scent.
I just want my dog, my kelev.
Later I sat in the sun crying, yelling at the wind that so recently flew through her fur, rejecting all phone calls and offers of comfort. Don’t tell me about rainbow bridges or spiritual connections or power animals. Sure I am grateful that she was with me for 11 years, but gratitude exists in another lifetime. Thank you for reaching out, but understand that my wild raging grief cannot accept comfort any more than a burn victim can tolerate physical touch. So please share your healing light with someone who is ready to heal. Right now I am broken and empty and my shattered heart is bleeding out.
I just want my dog, my kelev, my heart.
At some point, I will be able to talk and say thank you for your kindness. At some point, I will be able to remember that I am resilient and that shattered hearts heal. Someday I will believe in love again. But not today.
Right now I just want my dog, my kelev, my heart, my heart’s heart.
I just want my dog.