A friend of ours died this week. Her time had come and while I could not help but celebrate her life, for it was full of love and fellowship from beginning to end, the loss we all feel when one we are fond of leaves this earth haunted me. Her last breaths came with loved ones nearby, while Samwise and I were in the forest. 

I timed it this way. I wanted to be away from people, and in the company of those who listen and speak gently. That’s what sent me into a village of trees that see more bears than humans, with Samwise by my side. 

Memories begat prayers. Sadness and beauty and grace and deliverance enveloped me. The last time I saw her was less than a week ago. I was visiting her home, staying outside to drop off some food to my friends Jill, Jeremy, and Jasmine, and Islay (pronounced eye-la) lay down on top of my feet and asked me to rub her belly. 

Islay was diagnosed with the same beast inside her that ended Atticus’s life. But due to the care of the three J’s, and Rachael Kleidon, they had another eight months with her. It was remarkable to see how frail she looked then came the rebound. A face that had been hollow, filled out again. She went from not looking right, to beaming. And she truly did beam. She was singular in this way.

(Photo by Jill Hope.)

Her final turn came quickly. For that I’m grateful. 

I got a call from Jill night before and I knew. 

So Samwise and I took the trail down to the Ellis River beyond the high grass and the trees in our backyard—Aragorn’s path. We waded across to the ski trail. In winter, it’s a rush of flashing colors and skis and poles and puffs of breath against the cold air. But on early August morning’s it feels like we are entering autumn. We dip into the golden mountain waters, luxuriate in their chill and gentle swirls and trek for miles without seeing another human. 

Phone reception disappears quickly, as it should when entering a mythical realm. Samwise is more alert on this route. His nose picks up the scents of the wilds who passed this way and that during the night, or maybe just before we arrived. We saw bear and moose scat, a neighborhood of chatty peekaboo chipmunks, a murder of crows who follow us whenever we pass that way—we even glimpsed a fisher cat on a branch. 

Each morning we begin these walks in fall, and by the last mile or two, it’s summer again. The sun stretches toward the tree tops to the east, bejewels the river, casts shadows and heavenly shafts of light. Samwise dips down to the water, even as we gain elevation, for an occasional drink. When we get to the turnaround point, I cut down through the trees, too. There’s a good sitting rock there. It’s lays among the boulders once carried that far by a glacier. The water nymphs sing as they ride the current, and we watch the churning, glistening, mountain waters pass. Shadow and sunlight play with one another.

I knew Islay closed her eyes for the last time while Samwise and I were sitting at that place, for the first red leaf of the year came fluttering down and landed on my lap as I prayed. Then, what could only be considered fitting, occurred. Three miles beyond where I’d last had reception, a text message came from Jill.

Islay was gone. 

She slipped away on the grounds of North Country Animal Hospital, in the same spot I last held Atticus.

Writing that sentence brings me back to that moment. It was brutally sudden and I was near death myself that day. As the darkness fell, I was still in the parking lot, an empty husk of a human some forty-five minutes later. One of the two doctors who took Atti from my arms (Rachael was out of state at the time) was on her way home. She stopped by my car to check on me. 

Through the tears I said, “I’ve never gone home without Atticus.” 

It is said that there is both a curse and blessing to lose a loved one unexpectedly. I choreographed Will’s passing. With Atticus, I did not have that chance. 

Checking in with Jill, now that it’s a couple days later, she is grateful for the extra time she had with Islay. Selfishly, I’m happy to have been with her recently. I shall never forget that sweet gal, who was the nicest dog I’d ever met.

We are never the same for having had a friend. The same can be said when they are gone, but remain within you. Saying goodbye is hell on those who stay behind. 
There are never the right words. There are only thoughts. I’ll use Aeschylus’s: “In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.” 

PS: I know two readers out here who had to go through this same primal loss recently. My prayers go out to Sonia Arias and Jan Hemenway Greene. 

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