To everything there is a season
A time to be born and a time to die.
A time to weep and a time to laugh.
A time to mourn and a time to dance.
— Ecclesiastes 3.2-4
Lucy, our beloved Lucy, is dead.
She took her last breath Monday, just before sunrise. At midnight she coaxed her shriveled body to her favorite nap spot by the sofa. She crumpled down, curled up, and slowly took her leave, one soft breath at a time until her breath was all gone, returned to its giver.
(Where does breath come from? Where does it go?)
Lucy was one of Orphan Annie’s 14 Labrador pups born in 2010. She claimed us. We brought her home. She lit up our lives. Monday that light went out.
I wept. And will weep again when morning comes and I walk our nature trail alone.
Paula wept. And will weep again when evening comes and there’s no one to fetch the squeaky ball, or pant for a biscuit, or sit for a brushing.
We walked, romped, and snuggled with Lucy for 12 years. Now she’s gone. And with her a piece of our hearts.
Dogs?!! Whose idea was that?
I know, I know. It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. But sometimes I wonder. Love?!! Who can afford that? How many times can our hearts be broken?
I don’t know, but I can guess that some of you are also living with a broken heart, sick with grief. Will this grief—mine and yours—ever end?
Yes.
Yes, it will.
And it does.
I know it does.
You don’t have to believe it will end. It just does. Faith is not required. Patience is. Consolation is a gift. You can’t earn it. You can’t conjure it. It’s given, given like breath, given like the seasons.
The sun rises. Seasons return. Leaves turn. Birds sing. Children dance. Laughter roars. Night falls. Stars shine. Dogs howl. The sun rises.
Mourning breaks.
Lucy filled our lives with immeasurable joy. A long, long season of delight. And now comes the season of grief.
Yes, life is hard, sometimes very, very hard.
But grace abounds.
And dogs rock.
If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went. —Will Rogers
I can not feel your sorrow, but I know how real it is. My last dog was 18 when she died and I cried as if it were a child. I decided then never to have another dog. I can’t say the grief ended, but with time it became eaiser. My current dog is approching 10 and she is showing her age. If she does not out-live me, then I will have to go through another period of sadness. I extend to you and your wife my sincere condolence.
A masterpiece. Also dogs.
I am sitting here with a box of tissues as I read your post this morning. I am sorry to learn of Lucy’s passing. I am sorry to learn of the grief you and Paula are feeling. And now I am thinking of all of the dogs who have graced my life over the years. For those of us who love dogs, they are such an important part of our space and time here on earth. We mourn when they leave. We eventually recover. And then we repeat the cycle, knowing that we will, in all likelihood, have to experience the same loss and sadness again at another time with another well loved dog. Peace be with you and Paula, and with Lucy.
So sorry – Here’s to wonderful Lucy and you and Paula – what a great journey you have all had together. My boon companion – now 11 – is curled up at my feet sending unspoken vibes for a walk in the orchards or anywhere and the other beast is watching from his perch near the fireplace – he is 8 and after a hard year following a diagnosis of anemia and many nasty drugs and several transfusions he just received his first normal blood work since last May. Pets give so much and are so much a part of our lives. They are family.
First, empathic condolences. Then I want to convey a beautiful irony of unconditional love, a gift perpetually offered by such as exquisite Lucy. The love and loyalty so freely given by our Lucys depend upon one thing — that our hearts be open to receive Love. Without this necessary opening, we are lost to the best gift on earth. That you can feel such grief and pain is proof of your open hearts. Lucy loved rightly as well as unconditionally with you and Paula, and that stirs in me a sense of triumph and joy. One thing is sure: Every season is for Love. May your tears be tears of deepest gratitude for Lucy’s unparalleled generosity and glorious example of how to be in right relationship. May these thoughts amplify a sense of peace in your open, grieving hearts. Your ability to receive is the remarkable gift you showed beloved Lucy. All is well.
It’s a lesson that we all must learn
But one that’s so hard to understand
How we all must learn to hold in our hearts
What we cannot hold in our hands
From Love Don’t Com Easy by Michael
Earth and Sky they sing your name
Creatures great and small
Love and Grace, your endless Gifts
Given to us all
My hands, my work, my life for you
Praise God, the Ope Door
From Heaven Bound by Michael
Raise a parting glass to Lucy. After all, they say, “All Dogs go to Heaven.”
I’m so sorry. Lucy gave y’all unconditional love, a very rare and precious living gift. Dogs only ask for love in return.
Maybe deep grief is a sign of deep love! We are about to lose our beloved little partner and I know that one way we will deal with our grief, is to remember…and remember…and remember. I believe that what we remember, we will never lose. Peace to all….
Please accept my deepest condolences. Your beloved Lucy was a part of your family, your home and your heart. In your grief, may you be forever grateful. Intellectually, we know that life is impermanent. But when the reality of the inevitable happens, we are shaken to the core and the tears flow. Someone once observed, “Dogs’ lives are too short. Their only fault, really.”
The days I said goodbye to my dogs were the worst two days of my life. Sounds rather dramatic, but it’s true. I’ve planted their ashes with a bush in my yard, so I can still say “hello” to them and smile.
I don’t think I will ever deserve the love I receive from my pup – Copper. But None-the-less I’m grateful for it.
Love is such a hard virtue for me to comprehend. Sometimes I wish I were more like the mystics and had their profound understanding of love. But then my Copper teaches me that love is not for comprehension. Love is for giving, receiving, connection… for grace.
He’s one of my greatest teachers. It sounds as though your Lucy was a similar being.
Condolences on your loss.
Kind regards, Stacey, Laird, and Copper.
“What is grief, if not love persevering?” – WandaVision.
I am sorry that Lucy has died but glad that she had such a good life with you two. The love and caring we have for creatures of a shorter life span than ours requires us to accept years of joy followed by grief, joy and grief, joy and grief. I am always grateful for the long lineage of cats and dogs who have loved me, watched over me, taught and communicated with me and allowed me to enjoy long daily walks and to act even sillier than I usually do.
Thank you for the lovely photo of Lucy. I will light a candle in her honor. Love, Terry
“Love never ends…” (1 Corinthians 8:1) I believe this applies to dogs (and even cats), too. love will sanctify your memories
Claire and I haven’t had dogs now for 19 years. It hardly seems possible. When I met Claire, her companion was a full grown Doberman named, Rommel, yes, after the German general. He was rescued from the mean streets of Hollywood–tinseltown–and Claire said he was the best man she ever had. Then I showed up. Rom, as he became known, and I famously hit it off. Seeing that Claire was in respectable–well sort of–paws, “the general” decided to check out within the first year we lived together.
We raised our next Doberman, Zephyr, from a puppy. (We actually rescued her, using money from a backyard breeder.) She was the only member of her litter to survive. Zephie made it to the ripe old dog age of 13. Her companion, Redford, another rescue, named for Claire’s silver screen heartthrob, passed at an unknown age, two years after Zeph. Sometimes we get lonesome for a hound–I’m an uncle to my sister’s two Beagles–but it passes, just as our furry friends do. Nonetheless, the door to another four-legged pal can never be fully closed. It is indeed better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. 🙂
I’m so sorry for your and Paula’s loss of your beloved Lucy. Our pets leave big holes in our hearts and lives when they leave us and the grief is real.
Cats rock too. Grief is precious.
LouAnn and I can only express our solidarity with you in the grief you are going through.
We’ve had many good dogs over the years (Is there such a thing as a bad one?), but it is only a few months now since we lost our rescue mutt, Teddy, who blessed our lives for nine of his. At the end, eaten up with cancer, he wagged his tail madly as I held him.
The thing about dogs is that they are simply about love and joy, which they offer without reservation, even to those who would abuse them. They just can’t help it. To those searching for God and the meaning of life, I always say, “Get a dog.” (Terrible thing to say to a retired minister, but I hope you will forgive me for this one.)
I know your grief and I share your grief.
“Until one has loved an animal, part of their soul remains unawakened.” -Anonymous. Hoping you can sense my sadness for you across the distance.
So very sorry for the loss of your dear companion, Lucy. Dogs, with their faithful and non-judgmental devotion, can restore one’s faith in the (possible) goodness of the universe!
Love to you and Paula on the death of Lucy. She will remain in your hearts forever.
Oh – oh precious people I am saddened by your news. Yes, our fur babies are such pure love. Please know we understand your heartache and tears. Their love for us … know we travel with you during this time.