THE WIND PHONE

To Heal—I Allowed Myself to be ‘Gutted’

It took the death of my dog to truly mourn my brother’s passing

My dog’s grave at burial in 2002. — Author Photo

I looked at my van’s empty passenger seat for my furry co-pilot and bursted out crying. My first dog, Toughy, had been gone for months; I was driving a different van in a different country, and yet the pain followed me. I was 29 years old at…