....I pray that to be true....
It's been bothering me for a few days now. I've been tossing and turning and getting hives and feeling anxious. I'm horribly sad and haunted by it all. I'm so consumed by it and so tortured by it that I'm having a hard time even typing it here. But, I have to. I killed a dog.
Yes, me. A dog killer.
It's not the way I want to think of myself. And, it's definitely not the way I want anyone else to think of me or remember me. Because I remember the name, the face, the hair and the type of car that killed my dog when I was a child. My little dog Gigi. I remember the heartbreak and the sadness of losing Gigi. And I never forgot her killer. I hated him for years and years and years and years. I never forgave him and I doubted I ever would. That was over 40 years ago.
God is a funny guy, isn't He? Now that the shoe is on the other foot--with me as the perpetrator--I have finally forgiven the guy who killed Gigi. It took this moment in time for me to lose my anger and give my forgiveness. Stunning. If I ever see him again, I'm going to tell him. I wonder if he still thinks about it. If I ever see him again, I'll have to ask him. Because I need to know--will I still feel the sting of my act 40 years from now?
A little white dog ran out on to the street where I was driving early Thursday morning. A narrow, residential street with parking on both sides. He darted out from between two cars--directly in front of me. With parked cars on both sides of me, a car in front of me and a car behind me, I had nowhere to go. I couldn't swerve and by the time I stopped, the moment was over. He was under my wheel. The little white dog. I was frozen in that long second...not knowing if I should pull forward to release him or stay stopped in place. Thankfully, the kind man behind me--seeing what had just happened--came to my rescue. He motioned for me to pull up a little further and then directed me up the road to a little parking lot. I peered into my rear view mirror and saw the little dog on the road. My heart sank. The man who had come to my rescue was guarding the dog's body and directing traffic around it. As he did that, I called 911 to ask for assistance. Getting those words out---that I hit a dog--actually hurt. So much so that they got stuck in my mouth--paralyzing me. The operator--sensing my pain--asked me to stop and collect myself before continuing. And, so I told him--a complete stranger--that I believed that I had just killed a living thing--a little white dog. Me, a 50 year old woman, could not avoid the little white dog.
I am so sorry.