The middle part of the last decade was pretty rough for me. In 2003, my mother was diagnosed with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease). My father had passed away in 1999, so my mother lived alone. She was a very independent woman, but eventually she could no longer manage on her own. That’s when I became her caregiver.
Being a caregiver is an all-consuming task, as anyone who has ever been one can attest, especially when it is a debilitating disease, like ALS. One of the hardest things anyone has to experience in life is watching a loved one wither away. When the end finally comes, it can seem like a blessing. That’s a tough thought to deal with. Wanting someone’s suffering to end is basically wishing for him or her to die. There can be a lot of guilt mixed in with the grief. It’s no wonder many caregivers fall into depression after the death of their charge.
That’s when Alex came into the story. Al came to live with me shortly after my mother’s death. He was about 6-years at the time. I had been thinking about getting another dog for years without ever acting on the thought. Quite typically, for me, I had dithered until the decision was taken away from me. My son was forced to move and could not keep both of his dogs. The thought of Al, who was a somewhat emotionally fragile dog, being forced to live with strangers wasn’t a very pretty one. Suddenly, I wasn’t alone anymore.
