I’ve been visiting the hospital with my therapy dog, Riley, for some time now. Most patients light up when they see him, smiling at his wagging tail and soft fur.
But today felt different.
The nurses led us to a quiet room where an elderly man named Mr. Callahan lay still, staring at the ceiling. He seemed distant, hardly responding. “Maybe Riley can help,” the nurse suggested.
I gave Riley a command, and he hopped onto the bed, resting his head on Mr. Callahan’s chest.
Then, something changed. The man’s hand twitched and slowly rested on Riley’s fur. He murmured, “Good boy.” A breath of hope filled the room.
Then he said, “Marigold…” A name from the past.
“Marigold?” I asked.
He looked at me with recognition. “She brought me marigolds every Sunday… said they matched my hair when I was young.” His eyes softened. “Her name was Eleanor. We grew up together… married young, fifty years together…”
He paused, his voice cracking. “She passed away two years ago… Cancer. After she was gone, I couldn’t care about anything… even the marigolds died.”
Riley nudged him gently, bringing him back to the present. “Eleanor would’ve loved him,” he said.
Love transcends even death. Riley wasn’t just a dog; he was a bridge to the past, healing old wounds.
