I know I took a hiatus for Lent, but I am using the “Sundays don’t count” loophole.

I am a chaplain. I know what to say or what not to say in times of crisis.

I have lost loved ones before. I know how painful death can be for the survivor.

I have never lost a soulmate before, though, and think what you want about me, but Bailey was my soul mate. Bailey was my rat terrier. This pain surpasses anything I have ever been through before.

My dog, Bailey, died in my arms early Thursday morning. I know those who aren’t dog people don’t get the loss of a dog and even those who are dog people may not understand the extent of this loss. She was 16 ½ years old and I had her since she was 10 weeks old. She got me through divorce, cancer, two big moves, COVID, and all the other junk that came either directly or indirectly through COVID. She was my “person,” my best friend, my heart, my angel. She meant everything to me and to lose her has totally devastated me.

This is only my second day back at work, and I am most likely not going to work very long today, but pulling into the parking lot, badging into the building, turning the corner toward the stairwell, it hit me again – this is my first time in this hospital since Bailey died. This time last week, it was just a normal day. Bailey was alive and well when I left and would be alive and well when I got home. “Every first without her SUCKS!” I screamed inside my head. “How am I supposed to get through this? How can anyone expect me to get through this? I don’t want to get through this.”

I just came from my coffee house church group. I sat in stony silence until we prayed, and I felt a hand grab for mine and a body wrap around me, hugging me from behind.

Bailey . . . Bailey . . . Bailey . . .

As I pushed open the door of the stairwell, I felt my lungs give out, and I wondered again how . . . why . . .”One . . . step . . . at . . . a . . . time,” a voice whispered.

Oh, my Bailey . . . my heart . . .

“I’m hanging by a thread,” I told the pastor who was about to pray for me, one of the few gathered who did not know.

“All I have is hope,” I said after the prayer, and I explained why I was crying. “Hope is the only thing keeping me standing.”

I feel Him, this unexplainable love holding me upright, carrying me each one of those steps. I don’t want to be here. I just want to be with Bailey.

But I am not suicidal. That’s not what I’m saying. I will go on as long as God wants me to. I will do it for her.

I have to.

Once upon a time, I asked the husband of a dying woman a question. “There are a lot of love songs that talk about how they would die for the one they love, but that’s too easy. That means your pain and suffering ends, but then that forces the one you love to live with the pain and suffering of losing you. There is nothing you can do to change the circumstances. She is dying. Your pain cannot bring her back. The question you have to ask yourself is are you willing to live for her?”

Those words have come back to bite me in the ass.

I cannot bring Bailey back. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. I could never ask her to go through that pain and suffering again. I could never ask her to give up the freedom she has found in death. YES! I believe all dogs go to heaven.

So, I must ask myself, am I willing to live for her?

I have no choice.

I will eventually be vulnerable enough to share what I wrote in my prayer journal about this and share beloved photos, but not now. I need time. I am not ready to share my grief. It is mine alone, just as she was mine. My baby girl. My heart. My angel. The love of my life. My soulmate. My everything. Always and forever.

To share too much now would be like a funeral, a memorial, the final public goodbye. My heart can’t take that yet.

One SUCKY step at a time . . .