Navigating the Loss of Buddy

Here's an honest account of coming to grips with losing our golden retriever. There is a time to gain and a time to lose, and losing what we value is part of life.

As some of you know, last week, we lost our family dog, Buddy. He was an extraordinary golden retriever who had been in our family for 11 years. We weren’t prepared for the loss, but the love we’ve received from so many people has been amazing.

We didn’t expect to lose Buddy that day. I expected to go to work, return home, and find Buddy waiting at the front door. I would walk in, and he would greet me with such waggly fanfare that it would seem I had been gone a month. But instead, Buddy collapsed at the front door.

I’m having a hard time. On the one hand, my inner critic says to get over it because he was just a dog. On the other hand, he was our great friend, and great friends don’t go easily. As I’m reflecting on losing Buddy, I’m sorting it in four ways.

There’s the:

• Beloved, which is the object of value, Buddy

• Dreadful Fact, which is the fact that Buddy has gone

• Act of Losing, which is the moment of passing

• Process of Loss, which is the reckoning with what has happened

The Act of Losing comes from the Dreadful Fact that the Beloved is gone. This is objective and rational. It happens in a moment and is irrefutable. One moment, you have the Beloved; the next, you do not. There’s no going back except for divine intervention.

Losing what you love is a part of life. “There is a time to gain and a time to lose,” says Ecclesiastes 3:6.

Sometimes, the Act of Losing is drawn out, like in a terminal illness. You know the prognosis and that one day, the body will succumb to whatever is attacking it.

Sometimes, the act of losing happens in an instant. All is fine, and suddenly, there’s a crash or a collapse.

Regardless of the manner, both are violent and cruel and catch you unaware.

Passings

The night before we lost Buddy, I passed by him as he lay on the ground. Although I was going to do something else, I knelt to cuddle. I looked into his big brown eyes and kissed his forehead, and memories flooded my mind. I felt a strong sense of gratitude for Buddy. I didn’t know that the following day, he would be gone.

Joan Didion explains the year following her husband’s passing in The Year of Magical Thinking. It is a book about losing and loss. Didion was about to eat dinner with her husband, John, in their New York City apartment when all of a sudden, John stood up, fell back, and died of a heart attack right there on the rug.

She writes:

Life changes fast.

Life changes in the instant.

You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels

Didion didn’t know that dinner with John would be their last. I didn’t know that moment with Buddy would be our last, either. I was passing through on my way to doing something else. But there is a time to gain and a time to lose, and losing what we value is part of life.

Here’s how it unfolded on Friday:

• 9:18 am: I talk with a coworker, who shares that he just dropped off his two dogs at the groomer. I tell him we have two dogs, too.

• 10:03 am: Colette calls to say Buddy was running outside, came inside, and collapsed. Thankfully, Rex (17) is home with her. I leave work for the 25-minute drive home.

• 10:08 am: Colette calls with the Dreadful Fact that our Beloved Buddy has passed.

• 10:20 am: Colette and I place a three-way call to Asia (21), and she heads home.

• 10:23 am: I call Asher’s school to pull him out for the day. I pick him up, share the news, and silently drive home. Tears fall from Asher's (15) face.

As we get closer to home, I feel a rising dread.

The Reckoning

I tell Asher I want to get home, but I don’t want to get home. To get home is to reckon with the Dreadful Fact that Buddy is gone. Avoiding Buddy’s body is a way to undo losing him. Of course, this is irrational and unreasonable.

For example, in the week since Buddy’s passing, I’ve found myself:

• Leaving his favorite bone in the same place so he can chew it

• Keeping his leash by the door in case he wants to go for a walk

• Not emptying the doggie doo receptacle because Buddy’s traces are in it

These are unreasonable acts, but that’s because the heart is seeking to avoid the worst possible scenario, which is separation. It’s not going to be sensible.

When we’re grappling with loss:

• We don’t want to believe it.

• We invent alternate endings.

• We wrestle with reality.

But eventually we must reckon with the Dreadful Fact, adjust our lives, and face the truth. We cannot avoid what happened but begin to live with it. After all, there is a time to gain and a time to lose, and losing what we value is part of life.

When the vet called Colette to say Buddy’s ashes were ready for pickup, neither of us wanted to do it. To gather his ashes would make it final.

So, we decided to do it together. Loss isn’t as cruel when you’re not alone.