A Single Sunbeam

My best friend died this week.

My best friend died this week and now I don’t know what to do with myself. Donald Trump became President-Elect Donald Trump, and just like everyone else with a website I was planning to write something about that. Some lovely words about Community and the nature of people and God. But my best friend died this week and I can’t think about anything else.

It happened very quickly, losing him. On Friday I was stopping by my parents house for lunch and a little time with my pup. On Sunday night I was getting a text from my mom reading simply, “Call me”. By Monday night we were walking into a house that was suddenly Milo-less. He was old and we knew that, so maybe you’re just never prepared to say goodbye.

Milo became part of the family 13 years ago. A Min Pin, the breed of my dreams. And boy, was he a Min Pin to his core. He was one of the smallest dogs on the block (only 15 pounds) but he thought he was a Mastiff. Like any Min Pin worth his salt, Milo thought he could stand up to anything. Most of the time though, he ended up in my arms where it was safe to bark without any real conflict. He could eat like a Great Dane and run for hours. Watching him jump onto counters he had no right to reach was a thrill. He was a ball of energy and fun, but somehow what he did best went beyond all of that. Milo was an expert counselor. For me, for my parents, and for us as a family really.

In high school I struggled with mental health. Self doubt, depression, thoughts of suicide; I went through it all. When times were the toughest there was always one thing I could lean on, and he was 12 inches tall. Regardless of his size or species he was so excited every day when I came home from school, and when you’re not sure if anyone else in the world is happy to see you, that simple fact can count for everything. Taking my own life was always a thought but it was never really an option, because what would have happened to Milo? How sad would he have been? I could picture him pacing outside of my bedroom door, wondering where I had gone and when I would be getting back. I could never do that to him, so I didn’t.

Over time I learned to value myself and grew in my faith. I’m married now, happy and healthy. But he taught me how to be selfless. He taught me how my decisions could impact someone else. He taught me how to love unconditionally and be loved in return. He taught me anger management and that sometimes you have to just look at a plate of what used to be pizza and laugh. He taught me so many things that I would never have learned otherwise. I’ve learned more life lessons since, but I wouldn’t have made it here without him.

Over the course of his final 24 hours I barely left his side. We took in the morning together as I walked him through his old stomping grounds. A “walk” might not be the right term since he was bundled in his favorite blanket and wrapped in my arms. Walking straight was hard for him that morning, so we didn’t force it. Ideas like perseverance didn’t seem to have value in a day that felt removed from time. As our eyes met in the light of the sunrise, we both knew what the day would bring and what that moment meant. I will never forget being flooded with the knowledge that my best friend was about to die, but equally strong was the love in his eyes as he looked at me. The rest of the day continued with similar precious moments. Looking out my bedroom window together, falling asleep to his favorite CD (Damien Rice’s O), and more than a few tears. But I also learned yesterday that the day wasn’t just for me. I watched as my parents shared their own time with him, dealing in their own way. In 2007 Milo helped my mom grieve the loss of her own mother. More recently, he helped my dad work through the loss of a son. He was there for them even when I couldn’t be. He was there on a lap, watching Monday Night Football, or forcing them to take a walk and just breathe. It wasn’t just me. He healed us all. He was a part of our stories and we would not be the same without him. If God had tasked him with the job of taking care of us, he far exceeded his calling. He helped us through turbulent waters as a family, but it was finally time for our life raft to retire. I hope he was able to go peacefully with the knowledge that we are stronger now because of him. Happier now. A better family now.

“A single sunbeam is enough to drive away many shadows.” 
― Francis of Assisi

In his death Milo did have one more lesson to teach me though. The kind of love that he was capable of, the love that doesn’t come easily but is seeded in vibrant soil, vast and uncompromising? That is exactly what the world needs right now. Milo can't be here for us anymore, but I can carry on his spirit. So, if you need to talk to someone about doubts, fears, depression, loss, or if you just want someone to watch some football with, I'm here for you. Milo liked it when everyone came together. So do I.