Speechless. (continued)

I know it's been a while since I wrote the teaser for this post. To be honest, I'm still speechless, but I'm forcing the words for fear of waiting too long. I have to try to express how deeply thankful I am to this person, or these people, and I just don't think saying the words "thank you" is going to be enough. Have you ever been so grateful for something someone has done for you that you just cannot imagine how you could ever let them know exactly how you feel? That's where I am. Words just don't seem like enough. I would say to them, "You know who you are and you know the wonderful thing you have done," but I truly believe that these two are such selfless, humble people that they are possibly reading this right now and have no idea that I'm talking about them.


But I'll go ahead and let the cat out of the bag, which seems like a funny thing to say since this, in fact, is all about a dog. A very special dog, to be exact. It's no secret how much I loved and still love my dear Pagan. If you're new to my blog, then you probably don't know the whole story, but you certainly have seen her picture over on the right side of my blog. I put that up there when I had to make the most difficult decision of my life, which was to put her to sleep, and I've never been able to take it down. It was a year on May 30th since I said goodbye to her and not a day goes by that I don't regret it. I regret it and then I have to talk myself back through it all and remember that it was the best thing I could have done for her. Her back legs no longer worked and they were covered in oozing tumors. We had ran so many tests on her for so many years that I finally had to make the decision to just let her be and just let her go.


For years Joe and I talked about having some sort of a painting done of Pagan, but we never did. As she grew more ill, I put it out of my mind because to me, that was saying goodbye before I had to. Does that make sense? It was like saying, "Here, let me get this portrait done of my beloved dog so I'll have something to remember her by since I know she'll be gone soon." I didn't want her to be gone and I still wish she were here. But that's my burden to bear. I tell myself daily that if I hadn't have made that decision, then she'd still be here. It's hard to convince myself that it was, in deed, the right decision. Maybe someday I'll learn to accept it.

Now a little more background. As you may know, I grew up in a very small town. My parents moved into a home in that small town in 1980 and in May of 1981 I was born. I have no idea when the Owens moved to that small town, but they lived behind that house my parents bought in 1980, and they still live there to this day. They're pretty much like family. I don't personally talk to them much these days, but my parents do and they always keep me updated. The Owens kept me supplied with punch balls as a child and are invited to every important function we have. Mrs. Owen (I'll keep her first name to myself for privacy) is a wonderful artist. We took Hana over to visit a while back and I was so amazed as I gazed at her walls lined with her own pieces of art. What a gift! What a talent! I love it when people are able to find what they excel at, and believe me, Mrs. Owen has definitely found what she excels at.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. I was on the phone with my mom when she said, "Well, there's Mrs. Owen (except we call them by their first names because it is, in fact, that small town charm) pulling up. I need to let you go. I'll call you back." And when Mom called me back I made sure everything was okay with the Owens and she said "Yes, they just wanted to talk." And I accepted that answer and moved on. I never thought twice about it.

Fast forward to two weekends ago when we went to the lake. Mom said, "I should really wait on your father to be here to give this to you, but I know he'll understand. I just can't wait. But it's probably going to make you cry, Courtney." And she handed me this:
My eyes filled with tears as she said, "Mrs. Owen took Pagan's picture off the blog and painted this for you. Well, Mr. Owen wanted to make sure you knew he helped by holding the picture up for her so she could perfect it, so they made this for you! She said that if there's something a little off, if her eyes aren't just right or anything at all to please let her know and she'll work on it until it's just right."

Again. Speechless.

They knew Pagan from the time she was a puppy. They remember her yapping at them when I would come home from College Station to visit. That's where I bought Pagan, when I lived in College Station. She was so small at that time that she rode in my lap once and fell asleep and rolled into the floor! My sweet puppy. I can't imagine that Mrs. Owen could have done a better job at capturing her. It's sure perfect to me.

People are usually pretty good about doing things for others when they have a reason to do them, like a birthday or other special occasion. But it takes a very special person to do something so absolutely wonderful for no reason at all.


Mr. and Mrs. Owen, the thank-you card I sent you was so difficult for me to write because my words seemed so meaningless in comparison to what you've done for me. I hope you don't mind that I've shared this story with so many. I will have it framed and plan to hang it in our bedroom. Really, I would like to hang it in a more visible place, but she loved our bedroom. That's where she slept and always wanted to be, so in my heart I know that's the right place for her. I will eventually keep her ashes in there too, but I'm afraid Hana would get into them, so I need those out of reach. So until it's framed, it sits right beside her on our mantle. Absolutely breathtaking.

A million thank yous would never be enough.