“But however and whenever we part from one another, I am sure we shall none of us forget …” — Bob Cratchit, upon Tiny Tim’s death.
You live your life to protect those you love and nothing expresses loss more than to watch those you have sworn to keep safe wither under the terrible dance of time. Your muscles wrench in their columns and your fists clench as though by sheer will of body you can forestall the inevitable. Even though you set your teeth and prepare your spirit, there is no preparation for the moment itself, because until that moment you will not, can not believe. But then it comes and belief or not, the truth remains.
We watched over the months as congestive heart failure culled Yoda’s appetite, diminished his muscles and stole his wind. Toward the end I’d look to where he rested watching for the rise and fall of his chest, halting for a moment, my own breath hitched high and hard in my chest, and then release when I caught sight of his own.
He never lost himself, my brave little boy. His eyes were always there, watching me. His beautiful, expressive eyes that displayed more awareness than any dog had a right to. He was never the cuddly type of dog and so it was hard in those last days, knowing he was still there but further knowing that you could pet him for a bit but never really hug him. I had to respect that. I had to keep my embrace from him because I knew it made him uncomfortable, so I would look, watch him watch me and hug a pillow close to my chest in his stead.
Yoda was beautiful, intelligent and loyal with only one flaw—he was too much like me. We both shared the stubbornness born of spirit, relentless and driven to hold on long beyond reason. He was still moving, still striving until the very end, when, knowing the moment was upon him, walked down the deck stairs to find his own place, out of the way. He got three steps away from the stair before his tremendous, furious heart beat its last and he fell to his side.
I found him minutes later. The sun, for the first time in days was rising brightly in the sky and it fell on his open eyes and for the briefest of moments, in the glow that I saw there I wondered if there might be life, even though I knew better. His body was warm and I called his name but he was beyond hearing me. He lived his life to be by my side, to protect me, and now I knelt above him realizing that all our journeys must end whether we feel them complete or not. I picked him up and brought him inside. I sat on the edge of my bed and held him in my arms, finally able to hug him the way that I wanted, pressing him close to my heart, rocking him, saying his name over and over while my tears fell upon his smooth coat. After a while we wrapped him in a pretty blanket.
The depths of the human heart are immeasurable and thus the pain that rattles those depths is equally immeasurable. I kept looking for him in the room because he had always been there. Always. He could not bear to be out of whatever room I was in and I hadn’t realized just how used to that feeling of protection I’d come to enjoy in his presence. That was our covenant with one another, to ceaselessly protect and love one another without exception.
Memories flooded back to me. I watched this dog literally attack the ocean itself. He had never seen waves before and when one of them washed over my feet he swept down the beach and bit it! After my accident in Pennsylvania if I were to even approach the wall where me and the riding tractor had gone over he would run up behind me and bite at the hem of my pant leg, pulling me back, away from the edge, away from danger. There were many years when it was just the two of us. Long car rides, endless days in foreign states where we had no roots. For fourteen years we walked side by side and it is only now that I realized I never once feared for my safety.
A couple of years ago I lost my grandmother, another stalwart of protection and strength and she and Yoda were so much alike. So strong, so unending in their protection of me. Both lived well beyond years allotted to most of us for our kind and now I’ve lost them both. (“Oh spirit! How can we endure it?”) I watched time take its due and God take back what he had so lovingly, compassionately shared with me. I was born with few guardian angels and now I’m a man with precious few remaining.
I’ve learned a lot in the past 24 hours. My own mortality is no longer in question. When we see those who present such admirable strength and fortitude of character finally fall, there can be no doubt of our own road and its inevitable conclusion. But I’ve also learned that I have little to fear of that ending moment. I will follow those who had, for whatever reason, decided to provide security for my wayward spirit and I will not be alone. I will go to be with my grandmother and grandfather and panting happily at their feet will be my Yoda, my baby boy, my friend and protector. I will know then that I am finally home.
As I write this, Holly is giving me a precious gift. She is taking Yoda to the Vet’s office down the road where they will dispose of his earthly body. She and I too have a covenant and now my job is clearer to me than ever. I will do for her what has been done for me. I will give her my protection, my grace, all that I am until I can give it no more and I too fall under the weight of time and age.
This world is a tiring place, consuming with its endless trials and tribulations. But our mark on the world is not how much we can acquire or how much we can outdo our neighbors. Rather it is by when we are struck to our knees and have hands extended outward to help us back to our feet. This and nothing more is the measure of our lives. May we never forget our guardian angels. May we never take them for granted. May we remember what they have given us and may we give it in return to others.
For you Yoda, you who gave so much and took so little, I will keep your fiery spirit safe within. No room will ever feel the same without you watching over me. Goodbye my dearest friend. I will miss you, forevermore.
Stefan
