I wanted a dog.
Not I wanted a dog, like I used to but changed my mind. And not I wanted a dog like I just wanted to have one.
I wanted A dog. One dog. His name is Falcon.
My husband and I have tossed around the idea of getting a pet for years, but while we were in the trenches of teaching all our tiny humans not to bite/tear/destroy/pee on our stuff, it just never seemed like the right time to add another creature to the mix. When our youngest was born, he was instantly obsessed with dogs, and our puppy talk started back up. We decided to revisit the idea when he was potty trained. He is three now, fully potty trained, and still obsessed with dogs.
One day last month, while trying to distract him at big brother’s flag football game, I accompanied the littlest across the bleachers to pet a nearby pup whose owners looked friendly enough to oblige the request. As it turns out, this particular dog was named Falcon, and he was available for adoption. What started as polite small talk turned into conversation and ended with lots of e-mails to the rescue organization to which he belonged. My kids all met Fal at that football game and talked about him for weeks. My husband and I got a babysitter while we met with Falcon and his foster mom to get to know him. He is young, healthy, trained, well-mannered, great with kids, and relatively low-maintenance — perfect for our family. My prayers for a pet turned to planning our future together and confidence this pup would be ours. Still, my husband was a bit hesitant. He has never had a dog before, and he didn’t quite feel the magic I had. Something just wasn’t right with him, and it didn’t matter how much I argued or pleaded or nagged, it just wasn’t right. So we waited it out.
Yesterday, I got a text from Falcon’s foster mom. He was adopted by another family.
I was crushed. Like, crushed. I honestly don’t have a good reason for being so emotional about a dog I’ve met twice, but I was completely heartbroken and had to lock myself in the bathroom feigning sickness so the kids wouldn’t see me crying. Honestly, my husband had never really been on board. I knew it wasn’t going to work out, but I prayed and pined and planned and pursued anyway. Disappointment feels like an understatement.
Some time ago, my husband and I talked about having four kids. We were expecting our third baby in three years, so it wasn’t exactly a logical time to be planning the next birth, but we just knew it would come eventually. Over the next few years, we tossed the idea around a bit, but my body was tired. We were still in the trenches of teaching our tiny humans not to bite/tear/destroy/pee on our stuff, so it just didn’t seem like the right time to add another baby to the mix. We decided to revisit the idea when our youngest was potty trained. Then he was almost three, almost potty trained, and we were ready for another baby.
So we had one. Or we thought we would anyway. I got pregnant very soon after a miscarriage, too soon some people said. But my prayers turned into planning for the future and confidence that this miracle baby would be ours. Still, my husband was hesitant, and my doctor was straight-up fatalistic. Just a short time earlier, we had gone through this and miscarried, but that had been different, I thought. This time I felt the magic, knew this was it. So we waited it out.
Five years ago yesterday, I lost that baby.
Even now, I have a hard time communicating just how devastating that miscarriage was for me. I was only 8 ½ weeks along, but having had blood drawn every other day since actual conception, it felt much longer. My doctor started me on supplements almost immediately and shortly thereafter told me I would miscarry. It didn’t matter how bad the odds were, I still prayed and pined and planned and pursued anyway. Disappointment doesn’t begin to capture how I felt.
Maybe it’s the cruel irony of losing Falcon on the anniversary of my miscarriage that has me so emotional about it. Maybe I have no right to mourn these missed opportunities like I have. Dogs are dogs, and pregnancy is delicate. Maybe I should just get over it.
Nah, not today. Opportunities come and go, and sometimes when you miss them; it’s not your fault at all. It just isn’t meant to be. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less, and that doesn’t make it any less worthy of your grief. In time, I did give birth to another baby, but I’ll never stop loving or grieving the ones I lost. And maybe in time, we will adopt another dog. Not just a dog, but the dog, but I’ll still remember Falcon.
