A VALENTINE TALE
![ring[1].jpg](http://eileenloveman.com/blog/ring%5B1%5D.jpg)
It is a story that still brings tears to my eyes, these four years later. Although I can most likely recite the words by heart now, its simplicity is as magical as the story itself.
I had come across a website that was encouraging new writers to join and share their creativity. Clicking on the icon, I thought that I would take a look at who was there and what they were writing. I read a tribute from a man to his dog, and the agony of having to finally lay him to rest. A faithful friend for 16 years, an eternity in canine age, he recounted the fun times they had together and the loyalty they felt towards each other. Realizing the end was inevitable, the man made the agonizing decision of putting the dog down and their last days on earth together.
The man’s name was Steve; the dog’s Black Jack Riley.
I didn’t know the man, but reading his story touched my heart in ways I never thought possible. Reading it again and again left me sobbing at times, wondering at others. Why was this story moving me so? I didn’t even like dogs; I was much more of a cat person. But every time I read it, revealed a little bit more about the writer and why he had written it. It was as if he were burying his son; and in a way, he was. He can not read it aloud now without his voice cracking. Sixteen years is a very long time.
I commented to the man to let him know how his story had touched me, and we began to correspond, although I was hesitant. I was not in the mood for another romance, having just been separated from a 25 year marriage several years before, and then a romance that was disappointing. I had never intended to remarry, and neither did he, having had his own share of disappointments and false starts. We were both hopeless romantics, however, and thought maybe it would happen, one last time.
I wondered why, at age 48, did it take so long to find him? He had asked himself the very same thing; we both asked God to bless us and to help us to make the right decisions. Could it finally be the real thing, at this later stage in our lives? Was it possible to find true love at our age?
I was 50 years old when we married, a beautiful, informal ceremony in our backyard on the Lake on a hot sunny day in July, with two young Labradors standing nearby. Riley, a chocolate lab and Jack’s namesake; and JJ, an orphan who had found us in a feed store. Standing near us along side our family and friends, we pledged our love to each other for better or for worse. I realized that I now had 9 children, as I had grown to love the dogs as if they were my own. Lake Ontario had become our Lake Valentine.
When the sunset is imminent, and the sky is a glorious magenta, we sit on the back deck facing the lake and contemplate all that has happened these past few years. Offering a small prayer to the almighty, we also pay homage to the sweet old dog who brought us together. It taught us two things: it’s never too late to fall in love, and all God’s creatures have a purpose.
I believe we are sent angels when we need them most; friends when we are lonely and those to love us when we are unlovable.
Black Jack Riley sent me mine.
It is never too late to fall in love.
May your heart always be open to the possibility of new love.
I had come across a website that was encouraging new writers to join and share their creativity. Clicking on the icon, I thought that I would take a look at who was there and what they were writing. I read a tribute from a man to his dog, and the agony of having to finally lay him to rest. A faithful friend for 16 years, an eternity in canine age, he recounted the fun times they had together and the loyalty they felt towards each other. Realizing the end was inevitable, the man made the agonizing decision of putting the dog down and their last days on earth together.
The man’s name was Steve; the dog’s Black Jack Riley.
I didn’t know the man, but reading his story touched my heart in ways I never thought possible. Reading it again and again left me sobbing at times, wondering at others. Why was this story moving me so? I didn’t even like dogs; I was much more of a cat person. But every time I read it, revealed a little bit more about the writer and why he had written it. It was as if he were burying his son; and in a way, he was. He can not read it aloud now without his voice cracking. Sixteen years is a very long time.
I commented to the man to let him know how his story had touched me, and we began to correspond, although I was hesitant. I was not in the mood for another romance, having just been separated from a 25 year marriage several years before, and then a romance that was disappointing. I had never intended to remarry, and neither did he, having had his own share of disappointments and false starts. We were both hopeless romantics, however, and thought maybe it would happen, one last time.
The more time we spent writing, the easier it became to talk to him, and the more I talked to him, the more I realized he was very much the kind of man I thought I would never find. His passion was comedy; he loved to do stand up, the writing was a way to further stretch his creative legs.
We made plans to meet at a dinner, for the community of writers had gotten quite large and we all wanted to meet each other. He was one among many people I met that night, but he made an impression on me.
I wondered why, at age 48, did it take so long to find him? He had asked himself the very same thing; we both asked God to bless us and to help us to make the right decisions. Could it finally be the real thing, at this later stage in our lives? Was it possible to find true love at our age?
I was 50 years old when we married, a beautiful, informal ceremony in our backyard on the Lake on a hot sunny day in July, with two young Labradors standing nearby. Riley, a chocolate lab and Jack’s namesake; and JJ, an orphan who had found us in a feed store. Standing near us along side our family and friends, we pledged our love to each other for better or for worse. I realized that I now had 9 children, as I had grown to love the dogs as if they were my own. Lake Ontario had become our Lake Valentine.
When the sunset is imminent, and the sky is a glorious magenta, we sit on the back deck facing the lake and contemplate all that has happened these past few years. Offering a small prayer to the almighty, we also pay homage to the sweet old dog who brought us together. It taught us two things: it’s never too late to fall in love, and all God’s creatures have a purpose.
I believe we are sent angels when we need them most; friends when we are lonely and those to love us when we are unlovable.
Black Jack Riley sent me mine.
It is never too late to fall in love.
May your heart always be open to the possibility of new love.
At any age.
Happy Valentine's Day.
