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How I Lost Hope and Found Grace

If you know me, you know that hope is my favorite word. It’s tattooed on my arm, it’s the name of my MS Walk team (Team Hope), it’s in my favorite bible verse (Jeremiah 29:11). It’s also the name I chose for my baby boxer when I brought her home in 2002 at 8 weeks old.

I vividly remember the day that I introduced Hope to my son Jake, who was only 9 years old at the time. I told Jake that I had a big surprise for him, and then walked him into the living room with his hands over his eyes. When we got to the couch, I said, “Open your eyes!” And there was our new puppy laying in a little ball, asleep on the couch. Jake had a look of pure excitement on his face. “Is this Hope, Mama?” he asked. “Do we get to keep her?” He already knew that her name would be Hope, of course.

Baby Hope (8 weeks)

Baby Hope at just 8 weeks old.

Hope was a huge part of my life, and both my son and I were beyond devastated when she died on Jan. 7, 2014, at 11 years old. Even if you don’t have a dog or have never experienced the unconditional love and companionship one has to offer — something I find very therapeutic for MS — you’ll understand why I’m sharing my story of Hope.

Boxers tend to be a little more on the hyper side and stay puppy-like for two to three years, and Hope was no exception. But that only added to her charm. I potty trained her, took her to puppy obedience class with Jake, and all-around adored my “second child.” When Hope was three, we added another baby boy boxer named Baron to our family. Hope went from being like Baron’s mom, teaching him what he needed to learn, to becoming more like his sister and companion. They were best buddies.

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