Rosie, The Boss, and the Threads of Kismet: A Reflective Journey

It's strange, but Kismet how life pulls together threads you never thought belonged in the same tapestry. For me, two unlikely companions—Rosie, my best dog who recently left us, and Bruce Springsteen,—became intertwined in a story that began nearly 40 years ago. Together, they created a sad dance, their significance overlapping in a way only fate could choreograph.

Rosie wasn't just a dog. She was *the* dog—the most precious, soulful four-legged friend I've ever known. She had this way about her, a quiet magic that made everyone fall in love with her. And those eyes… oh, those eyes. They were deep and wise. Her gaze could pierce into my emotions, pulling out what I didn't know needed healing.

The day she told us it was time to let go fell under a rare November moon, the kind of day that feels heavy with meaning. I thought I'd be ready—braced for the inevitable—but grief doesn't play fair. It doesn't ease in or make room; it devours.

Death can unfold in so many ways, gentle or cruel, but for me, as she began her flight into the heavens, sorrow erupted into an all-consuming despair. It was as if the ocean inside me poured over me, waves of grief breaking loose and flooding my chest. There was no stopping it, no quieting the ache of watching her slip away.
As she slipped away, I whispered, "Don't go—not yet," even though her still eyes told me she already had. I tried to picture her spirit soaring—to the divine, or maybe even to meet Señor Tweet, our late pet parakeet. But all I could feel was her absence; no one had warned me how much that would hurt.

In the days that followed, comfort pulled me in the most unexpected ways: Bruce Springsteen. I played his live performances—loud, raw, full of that unfiltered emotion only *The Boss* can deliver. It matched the sobs that wracked me, a strange harmony of grief and solace. For three days, I ignored my routines (even my beloved podcasts and workouts, which is saying a lot). It was just me, my tears, and Bruce, but somewhere in the haze, I remembered *Springsteen Road Diary* on Hulu.

Was Rosie guiding me to him, to find some sort of "comfort"?
The connection felt oddly familiar, like the closing of a long-forgotten loop.
In the summer of 1985, fate handed me a different kind of lifeline: the chance to stay in America with a family who truly changed my life. One day, the father of that Brady Bunch-like household noticed my growing love for music and handed me a Sony Walkman with *Born in the U.S.A.* inside.

"Play it," he said. "I think you'll like it. Translate the words."

I did, and as my English improved, I realized Bruce Springsteen wasn't just a rock star—he was a poet, a storyteller, someone who painted gritty, tender pictures of life, love, and struggle. "I was introduced to The Boss of storytelling—a perfect match for a girl finding her way in a new language."

Years later, in the summer of 1999, Bruce reappeared in my life. My former husband and I shared our first kiss, bonded by our mutual love for Springsteen—a love that would go on to raise a wonderful daughter and care for Rosie together for 13 beautiful years.

Hearing *"I'll See You in My Dreams"* on Hulu's special just days after Rosie's passing felt like a message. The lyrics wrapped around me, quiet and hopeful—a tender reminder that love doesn't end. It shifts and takes new forms, but it never truly leaves.

Was Rosie guiding me back to The Boss, nudging me toward the poetry of life when I needed it most? Maybe. Maybe not. But life has a way of weaving meaningful kismet moments into its fabric. Those moments are the ones that keep us hopeful, connected, and "good"!

You might think I'm overthinking it, seeing connections where there are none—and that's okay. That's the beauty of life's mysteries. They don't need to make sense to feel real- they just are.
In my five decades, the signs have always appeared, quietly revealing their purpose long after the moment has passed and eventually connecting in Kismet ways I could never have anticipated.
In my five decades, I've learned that when signs reveal themselves, they often do so quietly, unveiling their purpose long after the moment has passed—connecting in beautiful Kismet ways that touch the heart. And they most often connect the dots I had already, intuitively, put together. Life has its own way of whispering, "You were right to trust your heart."

Rosie, The Boss, and their place in my story remind me that love, music, and memories are threads in the same tapestry. They stitch together our joys and sorrows- life, creating something beautifully whole.

And in that wholeness, we find healing.