She loved us with every cell of her being, and wasn't ever afraid to show it.

Broken hearts do heal. But first they teach.

My family’s beloved English Spring Spaniel Shadow died this morning, and I am so, so sad.

And also aware of joy, for the joy she brought my entire family—five Shadow-smitten people who consistently reveled in her doggy-ness. She was our entertainment, our therapist, our walking-buddy, our fuzzy little companion.

Her most recent gift to me is the reminder that compassion is born not just of choice, but of staying present to the broken heart. I choose neither to wallow with obsessive thinking and what-ifs nor run away by indulging vices or shutting down emotionally.

“Just this,” one of my favorite Buddhist authors, Geri Larkin, would say. “Just this.” My 12-step buddies would say, “Right foot. Left foot. Breathe.” 

I never want to be one of those people who can blow off the sorrow and sufferings of others. So, for today, I receive the gift of grief, let it open my heart, and revel in the miracles my higher power has given me—most especially my soft-as-velvet pal with the floppy ears and the big brown spaniel eyes.