Besides all the other things I am in my life – mom, wife, writer, teacher – I am also now a widow. As I type the word, it still doesn't register that I am writing about myself. My journey through grief and mourning has been shocking. Every once in a while, something happens that makes me question everything I think I know, and the arrival of our new 6-month-old hound mix, Boomer, certainly fits that category.

My amazing husband Daryl passed away on April 20 suddenly and surprisingly from a heart attack at the much-too-young age of 42. As our fifth wedding anniversary approached on June 23, it was preceded by the slow drip of water torture from my tears of grief. I knew that this year there would be no celebration of love between Daryl and me – no cards, no flowers and, most of all, no special present from the man who loved to surprise me.

Or so I thought.

One thing that my husband prided himself on was his ability to pick the perfect present for people he loved. He bought all of my jewelry, most of my shoes and could even pick out my lipstick. He nonchalantly pulled up in a convertible Sebring for my birthday in 2003.

I once mentioned to him that I might enjoy wearing a small pair of diamond stud earrings. When he handed me a square velvet box one Christmas morning, I opened it to find beautiful gold hoops instead. I thanked him and started to put them on – then he handed me another box, this one containing the diamond studs. We were standing in the bathroom brushing our teeth during this exchange. He just couldn't wait to give them to me.

How could I not love him and his impatience?

My favorite kindness, however, was the way he made my tea every morning in my red travel mug, left on the counter so I could just pick it up and head out into the day.

In the early days of my grieving, my dearest friend Kathy came up from Austin and stayed with the twins and me. She knew I would have a particularly hard time on the 23rd of June.

When Kathy lived in Plano, we would walk around our local streets and parks for exercise nearly every night. We had horrendous rainstorms during one week of her visit, but we still walked throughout my neighborhood, talking about life and love and the loss of Daryl.

One night we were returning home when we were accosted by a young dog, wet and skinny, charging at us from between the houses.

"Go home now," we demanded. We walked a bit faster. He followed us.

We turned around and tried to remember which houses he had darted from. It was dark now and harder to see. We knocked on doors, dog in tow, but people just said, "No, sorry, never seen him before."

Suddenly, the thunder started again. The lightning wasn't far behind. The clouds split open their tightly zippered pillow forms and torrents of water fell in record time.

We couldn't leave him out there, now could we?

We took him home. We fed him, played with him, took his picture for the fliers we would put up in the morning.

My 14-year-old Jack Russell mix, Ranger, was not amused.

We searched for days to find this frisky thing's owners.

No luck.

We called it quits after a few days and took him to the vet, then bought him a proper leash, collar and a food bowl. He was sweet and smart and silly. He fit in seamlessly, like he had always been ours. He made us laugh once again.

My husband Daryl was Australian, and in the nearly eight years since we met, I had come to embrace his culture (Rove Live, Vegemite, Kangaroos and Aussie Rules Football at the MCG) as much as he embraced mine (Dallas Cowboys, Camaros, Halloween, Thanksgiving, squirrels). In honor of Daz – and because this dog bounces around like a kangaroo and possesses a tail to match – we gave him the proper Aussie name of Boomer.

Boomer is a gift, a living metaphor for the love that forces me to go on when I think I simply just can't do it anymore. He is proof that the joy you get from life is proportionate to what you put in to it, and Boomer really does put himself into it.

He gives me hope, for I believe if I can love this silly pup in the midst of my black-holed grief, imagine how much better life will be when my sadness is diminished.

Some say my husband Daz must have had a hand in picking this dog especially for our anniversary. It's a dog he himself would have picked if he had had the chance. I am not sure about anything in this universe any more, so I'll just say, "Thank you honey! Boomer's perfect! Happy anniversary to you, too."

Susan J. Wail of Plano is an educator and a former Voices of Collin County volunteer columnist. Her e-mail address is swail@dazworks.com.