I meet so many amazing souls in my work these days - many of them already deceased. I meet them through the stories and memories of their loved ones. I see them in the grief and in the joy with which they are remembered. They come to life before my eyes in the small rituals or elaborate ceremonies that bear witness to the fact that their life mattered.
Recently I had the pleasure of meeting Bacho, through the gorgeous eulogy written by his person, Alice Hardesty. In addition to writing this thoughtful tribute to Bacho, Alice told me, she organized "a celebration of his life with 22 friends who especially loved him, with champagne and cake. I prepared a multiple-choice quiz about his loves, dislikes, and funny habits, which allowed people to know him even better. Everybody had a great time and it was SO healing - a real celebration."
Below, excerpts from Alice's observations about life with and without Bacho, and the quiz that testifies to how well remembered he is.
"Bacho, my lovely companion of nine years has ended his time on planet Earth and begun his journey into the unknown — at least unknown to me, although it may be well known to him by now.
"Bacho was a two-year old golden retriever, border collie mix who came into our lives only a month before Jack died. Our German shepherd had succumbed to cancer in March of 2006, and soon after that Jack started to read the ads in the local paper: 'Wanted, good home for our dog.' I was hardly ready for that because I was still grieving, but Jack seemed determined to have another dog. I can’t help but wonder about his prescience. Did he suspect that I would soon be alone?
"Since that time, Bacho and I have been inseparable. We walked together every day, starting before breakfast, again in the afternoon, and a short walk before bed. Whenever I would travel, I left him with friends or hired a pet-sitter. I never boarded him in a kennel. During these walks he would meet other dogs, toward whom he was usually indifferent, but if their owners offered attention or, better yet, treats, he would show great enthusiasm, sitting in front of them, tail sweeping the sidewalk. When people would come to he door he would never bark, but instead whined until I let them in and he could make a fuss over them. He would continue whining for a while as if he were saying, 'Oh, you lovely person. Where have you been all my life?' Thankfully, he was never challenged to be a watchdog....
"My whole routine has changed. I don’t know how to start the day. It used to be that when I first began to stir in the morning, a head with a long nose and two big brown eyes would jiggle the mattress, and a tail would thump softly against the bed. Now there is only stillness.
"Sometimes the loss of a beloved pet is a strange sort of gift in that it brings up old losses that may have been floating beneath the surface for years, losses that are deeper and often more complex, losses that may need additional grieving. Losing Bacho has reminded me of the deaths of both parents and my relationships with them. And losing Bacho has naturally rekindled the grief of losing Jack. As a healing ceremony, I have placed their pictures together and say their names as I light a candle every evening. Added to my awareness is the loss of my youth and the inevitable trajectory toward debility and death. These are not happy thoughts, but they are necessary ones so as not to be dumb struck by the process when it happens.
"In the meantime, I am learning to walk the neighborhood without a dog, and I find that quite often people smile at me anyway."
Please read the full eulogy and visit Alice's web site.
Recently I had the pleasure of meeting Bacho, through the gorgeous eulogy written by his person, Alice Hardesty. In addition to writing this thoughtful tribute to Bacho, Alice told me, she organized "a celebration of his life with 22 friends who especially loved him, with champagne and cake. I prepared a multiple-choice quiz about his loves, dislikes, and funny habits, which allowed people to know him even better. Everybody had a great time and it was SO healing - a real celebration."
Below, excerpts from Alice's observations about life with and without Bacho, and the quiz that testifies to how well remembered he is.
"Bacho, my lovely companion of nine years has ended his time on planet Earth and begun his journey into the unknown — at least unknown to me, although it may be well known to him by now.
"Bacho was a two-year old golden retriever, border collie mix who came into our lives only a month before Jack died. Our German shepherd had succumbed to cancer in March of 2006, and soon after that Jack started to read the ads in the local paper: 'Wanted, good home for our dog.' I was hardly ready for that because I was still grieving, but Jack seemed determined to have another dog. I can’t help but wonder about his prescience. Did he suspect that I would soon be alone?
"Since that time, Bacho and I have been inseparable. We walked together every day, starting before breakfast, again in the afternoon, and a short walk before bed. Whenever I would travel, I left him with friends or hired a pet-sitter. I never boarded him in a kennel. During these walks he would meet other dogs, toward whom he was usually indifferent, but if their owners offered attention or, better yet, treats, he would show great enthusiasm, sitting in front of them, tail sweeping the sidewalk. When people would come to he door he would never bark, but instead whined until I let them in and he could make a fuss over them. He would continue whining for a while as if he were saying, 'Oh, you lovely person. Where have you been all my life?' Thankfully, he was never challenged to be a watchdog....
"My whole routine has changed. I don’t know how to start the day. It used to be that when I first began to stir in the morning, a head with a long nose and two big brown eyes would jiggle the mattress, and a tail would thump softly against the bed. Now there is only stillness.
"Sometimes the loss of a beloved pet is a strange sort of gift in that it brings up old losses that may have been floating beneath the surface for years, losses that are deeper and often more complex, losses that may need additional grieving. Losing Bacho has reminded me of the deaths of both parents and my relationships with them. And losing Bacho has naturally rekindled the grief of losing Jack. As a healing ceremony, I have placed their pictures together and say their names as I light a candle every evening. Added to my awareness is the loss of my youth and the inevitable trajectory toward debility and death. These are not happy thoughts, but they are necessary ones so as not to be dumb struck by the process when it happens.
"In the meantime, I am learning to walk the neighborhood without a dog, and I find that quite often people smile at me anyway."
Please read the full eulogy and visit Alice's web site.
RSS Feed