A few months ago, my husband died suddenly of a heart attack just a few blocks from here. I was called in to identify his body, and then I was just… released onto 7th Avenue. I felt completely lost.
My friends were kind and supportive, but eventually life pulled them back into their routines. I don’t have children, and I’m not a workaholic, so all I was left with was this crushing loneliness. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep.
One day, I started researching dogs that could help with grief and depression. “Poodle” kept popping up. So I went to a rescue fair, but every poodle had already been adopted. In the back, though, I noticed an old, frail dog no one was paying attention to. She was skin and bones, trembling, her eyes runny with mucus. She looked so fragile. She reminded me of myself.
I adopted her and named her Grace, because I truly believe my husband sent her to me. She’s my first dog, and she’s been pure joy. We spend every moment together. She’s healthy again, her weight is back, and she even comes with me to therapy.
We’re healing together. ❤️