When I was a small child, I once asked my mother:
“Mom, if they told you there had been a mistake at the hospital and I wasn’t really your child, would you still love me the same?”
She stopped knitting, looked at me first with surprise, then smiled. She reached out, stroked my head gently, and said:
“My son, it’s not the pain of a single moment that matters. It’s the labor and the love of a lifetime.”
Many years later, I got my first puppy. I watched her grow up beside me. We shared the same food, the same bed, the same days and nights.
She became my companion, my truest friend. When she jumped and played, my heart swelled with joy. When she got sick, I felt sick too. When she recovered, I felt whole again.
One day, as she had grown old, I looked into her eyes and suddenly understood how much I would miss her when she was gone.
It was then that my mother’s words finally made sense: it’s not the pain of a moment, but the pain — and the love — of a lifetime.
Caring for her meant petting her, buying her toys, feeding her, making sure she lacked nothing. It meant watching her play happily, strong and full of life, while my soul trembled at the thought that something might happen to her. I held my breath through every illness.
And when the time came for her life’s circle to close, I knew no other creature could ever replace her. Every being is unique and irreplaceable. The marks she left on my heart would remain forever.
What difference does it make if my child walks on four legs instead of two? Didn’t I raise her with the same love I would have given a human child? Didn’t she awaken feelings in me I had never known before? Didn’t I worry and cry for her? Didn’t I feel guilty for not giving her everything I wished I could?
And she… did she ever betray me? Criticize me? Hurt me? Deny me her love? Every morning she woke me with wet kisses. She answered every call to play. She sat quietly beside me in my sadness, offering silent comfort. In the end, I often wondered: did she love me even more than I loved her?
How can words capture what we shared? What we gave and what we received? Sometimes language is simply too small for such feelings.
So now I add my own words to my mother’s:
It is not the pain of a single moment that matters — it is the pain and the love of a lifetime.
Adopt a dog. Love them as your own child. Treat them as your baby. And remember: they will love you far more in return.
