When I woke up on the floor of the laundry room after my cardiac
arrest, there were lots of things to feel. I felt a slight burn from the
strange tube in my right arm. I felt the straps holding my legs to the
stretcher on the floor. I felt confusion about the obnoxious mask over my face.
But I also felt something else—cold, wet, irregular—on my feet. I
raised my head a bit to see our dog, Bailey, who was perched at the base of the
stretcher, happily licking my toes.
That room was a frenzy of emotion—an aunt crying, paramedics organizing
a plan, my dad negotiating with them and also talking to me. I had no idea what
was happening, only that something major had developed in my health and that it
was life-flight serious.
In the chaos, one creature treated me like he always did. One creature
was incredibly, hilariously calm in that charged space. Bailey, with the nub of
his tail wagging, licked away at my bare feet. He must have been so thrilled that,
for the first time, a human did not pull away from his desire to bathe them.
Our family said goodbye to Bailey this week, a beloved husky dog who
only moved fast to chase UPS trucks and who greeted every visitor’s car with a
happy pee on the tires.
Dogs and cats so quickly transform from young children to adult size. They
become constants in the ever-evolving life of a human child. Through
adolescence and young adulthood, Bailey’s affection and friendship was a rock
through high school breakups and strikeout-heavy baseball games and graduation
parties and cardiac arrests.
In pastoral care classes, we are taught that when called into
situations of major grief, it is best to simply sit in silent presence with
another. Maybe we learn this from our dogs. Maybe that can be the hardest part
of losing a canine family member—the one who always would be present with you
through whatever is the one missing.
I will always remember Bailey’s bare feet kisses that morning. I hope heaven
is a place where all living things can communicate. I’ll tell him thank you.
And then I’ll wash his feet, too.
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