This Spring

A few nights ago, the dog was sick and I let her outside. She didn’t come back in, so I went out to look for her. It was 2:30 in the morning. I was in my bathrobe and roaming around the backyard until I found her. She was lying on her side in the grass. It was raining. She hates the rain. This is it, I thought. But it wasn’t it.

I took her to the vet the next day, and after paying approximately ten million dollars, she was better. I sat with her on the couch and she did this thing where she lowers her head and pushes it against me and I kiss her ears and tell her I love her. Then she curled up next to me, and I read the book I was reading.

The book is about two sisters who stop speaking to each other at the funeral of a third sister. The disagreement has something to do with a cake. For the rest of the book the sisters continue to not speak to each other. Each chapter is a story about a different family member, the sisters’ children and grandchildren. Story after story, and you know a little bit about everyone in the family, and you forget what happened at the beginning. Why did the sisters stop speaking to each other?

I was savoring this book. The writing was lovely and funny and smart. I loved all of the people, even as annoying and ridiculous as they sometimes were. When I got to the end, I went back to the beginning and read the first chapter again—the funeral, the cake.

I remembered why the sisters stopped speaking to each other, and I understood. Some things are unforgiveable, and even if you could forgive them, how do you forget?

I took the dog for a slow walk where I let her sniff to her heart’s content while I searched for signs of trouble. Her back legs wobbling? Her poops a little smushier than normal? But there was nothing. It was like that terrible night in the rain had never happened.

Except it did happen.

When I was sitting with her in the vet’s office, she paced and cried and panted. We don’t always know with an old dog, the vet said. There are things we can try. Tests. Procedures. It’s up to you, she added.

I knew what she was saying. How far was I willing to go to deny reality.

All the way, I would’ve told you once, but I am no longer that person. Sometimes bad things happen that aren’t fixable. Sick pets. Families that splinter apart. Still, I paid the approximately ten million dollars and we did the tests and one small procedure.

Back home and the dog is happy and the trees in our front yard have turned pink, turned white, turned green. The lettuce I planted weeks ago didn’t come up and didn’t come up and didn’t come up, but now suddenly, it’s here. I don’t know why I doubted it.

In spring, spring comes. It’s one of the few things I know for sure. But today that feels like a miracle.