…I guess if I’m going to tell this story, I should start at the very beginning and clarify that he is technically not even MY puppy.

Drake, a beautiful, ENERGETIC, black-as-midnight Labrador Retriever puppy (with a very dominant personality and the cutest face you’ve ever seen), belongs to my 19-year-old son, Ian. 

He joined our family last Christmas, on the day he turned 8-weeks-old. 

My husband and I love dogs, but at a point in life when we weren’t looking to have another one, we held out as best we could in the face of Ian’s year-long impassioned appeal for one.  He reasoned (persistently) that he had reached the PERFECT point in his life to happily devote the time to raising a great dog; that the flexibility he has at this point in his life will not last forever; that NOW was his chance to raise the companion and hunting buddy of his dreams. 

Eventually, after much fair consideration of that truth (plus a generous splash of parental guilt), Ian prevailed. 

Rightfully so - because I admit, he did stay true to his word.  He rearranged his life to make Drake his priority.  From day one, the two of them became quite a team. 

Further admission:  We fell way more in love with the little guy than we ever planned.

Positively channeling and burning Drake’s natural level of energy – both physical and mental - requires lots of attention.  For the most part though, since he is technically my “grand puppy”, I play only a supporting role in that process.  I help take care of him.  I enjoy him.  On a part-time basis.    

At least that had been the case up until March. 

In recent years, snowboarding has become a wintertime obsession of Ian’s.  I love that he embraces all four seasons and does things he loves in each one.  I generally support every opportunity that comes his way. 

However, up to that point, none of those opportunities had involved leaving home, hopping aboard multiple flights, and ending up two-time-zones away.  So that, fully responsible for himself, he could careen down the Rocky Mountains for several days.  The opportunity March brought with it offered exactly that:  A snowboarding adventure in Utah.   

To say that I felt reluctant when he first mentioned it would not paint an accurate picture of my REAL reaction.  Since we do Real Life here, I must instead tell you that I immediately morphed into a crazy mom whose head felt ready to explode and, for multiple reasons, erupted with, “What are you EVEN thinking to even ASK me that??  NO!!”

Before I had to say another word, he already knew that Drake topped my list of reasons. 

Interestingly, only one thing can rival the speed with which I can engage “crazy-head-exploding-mom” mode: The speed with which I can engage “mom-guilt” mode.

That came next. 

So, I did some soul-searching consideration:  What if he never gets this opportunity again?  What if he does, but doesn’t have the freedom to seize it?  

I acknowledged that my hesitation resulted mostly from my own worry.  Not from any doubt about his actual ability to take care of himself. 

More than anything, I reminded myself (as I must so often do when I find myself worrying about my kids) to let go of the illusion that I control anything.  Ever.  They are, and always have been, God’s children first.  As impossibly much as I love them - He loves them even more.    

And just like that:  I went from “NO!!” to “What kind of mother holds her son back from opportunity - just because she needs to learn to trust more and worry less?”

The next thing I knew, I was helping him pack. 

As his departure day approached, I grew increasingly nervous at the thought of having Drake – without Ian, for SIX days. 

(If one dog-year really does equal seven human years, then my math tells me that we can consider a 5-month-old puppy the equivalent of a human child somewhere in the “Terrible Two’s”.  Need I say more?)

…The time came. 

My son hugged me goodbye.

I watched him wheel his suitcase to his truck; setting out on his adventure.

My heart broke a little.

I tried not to show it (too much).  I tried to feel excited for him.  Grateful he had this opportunity.  I did genuinely feel those things for him. 

I tried not to think about what I felt for me.

Watching Drake watch him leave broke my heart even a little more.  The six days that stretched ahead looked LONG.

The house felt that different kind of empty:  The kind where you know they really have grown up and gone.  Just like you raised them to do. 

I reminded myself of all the ways this could be worse:  I KNOW all the ways it really COULD. 

This was just SIX DAYS - for him to do something fun. 

I tried to live the rest of my day like any other.  When sadness tried to creep in, I repeated to myself “It could be so much worse,” - like a mantra. 

Then, bedtime came. 

Have you noticed?  Nighttime is to worry as oxygen is to fire:  Fuel. 

For that reason alone, I dreaded bedtime.  The thought of handling Drake on his first night ever without Ian did not help. 

I did the only logical thing:  I tried to distract him.  Maybe he’d forget who we were (both!) missing if I let him sleep in my bed.  (Important note:  If I count all the times I have ever let a dog sleep in my bed, then add it to the number of times I ever thought I might let a dog sleep in my bed: I get a total of ZERO.  Desperate times. Desperate measures.) 

Wearing my pajamas and my brave face, I leaned over to help him hop up onto my high bed.

You’ll never guess what he did next.

In one split-second SNAP, he ATE the gold cross I was wearing around my neck! 

Broke the chain in half.  Swallowed the cross whole.

In a “say-it-isn’t-so” moment of pure denial, I crawled all over the floor; patting; feeling under the bed; inside closet doors; checking every illogical place. 

Nothing.

You’ll never guess what I did next.

I sat on the floor, and I sobbed. 

And I knew:  It was absolutely about way more than my cross. 

Make no mistake:  I felt SUPER sad about the cross - a long-ago gift from my really-little kids. But my reaction also had DEEP roots in all the worry and sadness I had felt, but tried to bury, about letting Ian go.

Weirdly, it also had to do with compassion and sadness for little Drake.  I knew he felt confused because his PERSON had just disappeared.  Seeing his cute little face and head-tilt: Contrite and now worried about me, didn’t help slow the tears one bit.  I feel certain he was thinking, “Let me get this straight:   Ian LEAVES me:  Then, on the same night, Mommy turns into a nut job??  Talk about the old bait and switch!”  

Much to his benefit, that part felt sad enough that I never could even get mad at him over the cross.  He was playing.  He meant no harm.  It made me sad, but we still had A LOT of week to get through together.

Over the next days, I did more crawling around on the floor – just checking one more time… Each time confirming more:  In one swift puppy gulp - my cross was really just gone. 

Enter:  New worry for the week:  What if, ON MY WATCH, in the process of “digestion”, a whole gold cross hurt Drake –– until it “came back out”??  Yikes. 

I half-heartedly watched the yard to see if it “came back out”.  I say “half-heartedly” because, as much as I would have loved to get my cross back – did I really want to get it back - - THAT way?? (I’ll just trust that you can draw your own mental image here…)

We had rough start, but we made it through the week. 

Our boy came safely back home, and it felt extra sweet. 

He described it as easily one of the coolest experiences of his life.

I enjoyed the exact feeling I had believed in when I finally made peace with letting him go:  The feeling that, by letting go and trusting, I had really done the right thing.  For all of us. 

Fast forward a few weeks, to my birthday: 

In conversation with my family that evening, I found myself telling the story of that night when Drake ate my cross.  We shook our heads and laughed at the ridiculousness, but only then did they realize how truly upset I had felt to lose it.  At that point, I could only say that, even though it had meant a lot to me, it was just a thing. 

The following morning, I set out on my morning walk thinking about the phone conversation I had just had with my daughter.  As we so often do, we had discussed the day’s concerns; decisions and choices to make.  Before we hung up, I had offered her the same advice I usually do:  We just have to do the best we can - then let go and trust.  God handles things and always makes them right. 

A little less than a quarter mile from my house, as I walked along enjoying the beautiful spring morning, a glint in the middle of the trail caught my eye.  I passed it by a few steps, thinking, “No.  It could not be…”  

I turned and went back anyway. 

And, yes!  It WAS!  My gold cross!  Right there in the middle of the trail!  Perfectly intact.  Almost one month to the day after Drake had eaten it! 

Thinking back, I can retrace the steps that led to this very unexpected outcome: 

(Brace yourself!)

As a responsible dog owner, I try not to let Drake “potty” anywhere other than at home.  If he does, I always clean it up.  However, there was ONE day during our six-days together… I felt worn out.  It was raining.  It was not technically AT home, but it was close (enough??).  I didn’t have anything with me to clean it up… So - full disclosure - I didn’t. 

It turns out, that ONE exception to the rule ended up holding the very treasure I had given up on finding in my yard!  Almost a full month later, all that was left was my gold cross, glinting in the sunshine, for ME to find... minutes after I had reminded my daughter that when we let go and trust, God handles things and always makes them right.    

I picked up my cross, shook my head, and smiled at God. 

If THAT is not proof that He shows up in the most UNEXPECTED places; that He can make ANYTHING right; that He even cares about the “little” things we don’t even ask Him to make right; (and that He has a sense of humor) – I don’t know what is.