I Hear Their Spirit

My dog has spirit. Do you know how
I know? It isn’t because he runs and

jumps and is playful. He isn’t so
much any more. It is because I

hear him breathing — rhythmically,
in and out, in and out, slowly when

he slumbers, like now. Soon he will
snore like the foghorn near the shore

of Lake Michigan on a foggy morning.
I like hearing the sound of that horn

as it climbs the dune and descends
toward me. It gives me comfort to

hear when I cannot see. Right now I
cannot see my dog. He is under the

table, but I hear his spirit and I
am comforted by his presence.

When loved ones die, they breathe
no more; it is so final. Their breath

departs and returns to the creator
for safe keeping, so says the good

book, but I breathe and when I hear
my breath it is as if I hear their

spirit. I feel their presence and
I am comforted.

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