A love letter to the best boy there ever was
A eulogy for a good mannie-man
[Love comes in many forms. It takes many shapes. More and more I believe it is all made of the same substance - and the same glory - and all utterly unique and distinct. Happy Valentine’s Day. Let love flow.]
If I told Toby I was going to write him a eulogy, he’d look at me with that blank/vacant/eager-to-please expression (classic Tobes). He was, much like Winnie-the-Pooh, a bear with very little brain, (and all the more beloved for it.)
I won’t have a funeral for Toby because he’s a Toby. And Tobys are different than people.
But Toby deserves some words. Words of love. Words are our way of honoring, of remembering. And Toby deserves honor.
And I don’t mean that as a joke. It may sound like that - especially if you knew him with his short legs and his startled and earnest expression. It might sound silly to honor a creature who was - in the best ways - a little ridiculous.
But over the past month, it has become so clear to me - that my furry friend was worthy of honor.
In this chaotic mess of a world, the simple act of being present with someone is honorable. Staying with someone in the dark - when its easier to move to a different room - when it is easier to try to find a way to turn on the light - is honorable.
When people shifted and scattered and my life became so scrambled that I didn’t even know who I was - Toby, with his simple presence - had no questions, needed no explanation. He didn’t need to understand. He didn’t need me to get better. He just wanted to be beside me.
Honor may seem too big a word for a dog’s simple presence. But there is a kind of love only animals and God can give: a love that shows up without any obstacle or complication, without the distraction of self-interest. Don’t get me wrong, there is something beautiful about friends - who do have questions - who want to understand. Humans are magnificent in a way because they want to help and fix and help you tease out all the tangles and make sense of the pain.
But when you do the work I do, you know the power of simple presence. You know that bearing witness is no small thing. It isn’t a consolation because someone doesn’t have the power to fix it. Presence, witness - is the thing that heals us all in the end.
Sitting with someone in the dark, whether you understand what they’re experiencing or not, and just bearing witness to their pain - there is something about this quiet and unquestioning and fully attuned presence - that gives us a shadow of the fierce presence of God.
Letting people you love hurt, takes true courage and Toby was a brave man. Which is a strange thing to say about a creature so afraid of everything (vacuums, spiders, lizards, noises, boxes).
I told Toby how brave he was a lot. I told him that when he finally overcame his fear (at 14 years old) and learned he could push the door open with his nose. every time I would hear it open (or - when I’d hear the thud of him banging his head on it and failing to open it) - I would run to meet him and say “what a good brave boy!”
I told him this at the end - as he lay, wrapped in blankets - you are such a brave man.
***
This week, my house is quiet. Which isn’t really that new, because Toby wasn’t much of a mover and shaker. Every now and then, out of habit I’ll get up and walk to the bedroom, in case he got stuck in the closet again (this is not a reference to his sexuality although I wouldn’t be surprised if it worked on multiple levels).
The quietness and emptiness in the house makes my chest feel hollow and the tears come.
And I don’t resist. Because Toby is worthy of tears.
Despite what the world might tell you - grief is a form of love, of gratitude, an honor that my buddy is owed. And despite what anyone might tell you - no creation is replaceable. Each shiver of a butterfly’s wings has a profound impact and none of us are meaningless. No one can disappear without impact.
And so I honor Toby - by lifting my head and noticing - he’s not here.
And life is different without him.
***
[This last part feels a little weird to share. It is private, but I couldn’t help but think - maybe someone has to say goodbye to their own good boy at some point - and maybe these thoughts could comfort them as they did me]
In our last moments together - I found some ground beneath my feet; a few thoughts that felt real and true. And I told him these two things:
I am giving you back. I handed Toby back to the God who made him and loves and notices that shiver of every butterfly’s wings and designed Toby’s ears to be so soft, and his heart to be so sweet. And whatever that means, however, that plays out - I knew the truth as I whispered it to my buddy - you are so so safe. And I am handing you over to love beyond any I can offer.
You have done well. Toby was a great and necessary grace to me. I think he was given to me to be a presence I could touch when there was nothing to hold onto. He was a breathing heart to rest my hand on in the dark and remember that I was not alone. I told Toby in those last minutes: You have done so well. You have loved me to this place where I am okay. And you can rest now. You have done so so well. And now you get to rest.
And as I sit here weeping as I write this, I know - that part of the reason I can enter into this pain without resistance and without fear - part of the reason I can grieve this buddy as he deserves - is because of all the ways he loved me into wholeness.
❤️
💔