fter Mom died, Dad’s Doberman became the companion he rarely let out of his sight. So when my sister banned Bruno from Dad’s funeral, I thought she was being cruel. I didn’t realize she might also have been afraid of what he could find.
After Mom died, Dad stopped sleeping in his bedroom.
He claimed the mattress hurt his back, but I knew the truth. The bedroom had too much of her in it.
Her perfume was still on the dresser. Her slippers stayed beneath the bed for almost a year because Dad couldn’t bring himself to move them.
So he started sleeping in his recliner.
Dad stopped sleeping in his bedroom.
And Bruno started sleeping beside him.
Dad had adopted Bruno from a rescue about six months before Mom died. He was a Doberman, already full-grown, with a face that made delivery drivers stay behind the gate.
Behind his fierce appearance, Bruno was a big softie. He followed Dad everywhere after Mom died, and waited at the front window whenever Dad went to the doctor.
For nine years, they were barely apart.