You have probably met at least one of my dogs. Vanilla Bean is the oldest, and probably the most visible. She is incredible with children, and if I am going to take a dog to Church on Sunday, it is going to be her. Peanut is a different sort of pup, and prefers the company of residents at Paul Springs or similar places. She is not great at walking, but does it enthusiastically and loves to lean against anyone that will love on her. Garbanzo was our surprise dog. In September of 2018 our dear friend found her abandoned on the Smith River, and called me to help retrieve her on my paddle board. When we arrived, we found her sitting on the lap of our friend going down the river like it was the most natural thing to do.

She was meek and dirty, so we let her stay in the basement until we could surrender her to the shelter the following Monday, which we had done for about six other dogs already that year. She seemed calm and old, and we thought she would be content, but she started to cry so we let her upstairs, and feel in love. We told ourselves she was too gentle and sensitive to stay at the shelter, so we fostered her, and then almost immediately adopted her.

It was not long after we adopted her that we found out that she was quite young, maybe two years old that she had epilepsy, which may be why she was abandoned. Since then, a major part of our lives has been managing her epilepsy, but watching her faithfully guard and cuddle our children as they came into the world has made every hardship worthwhile. Garbanzo never had the sociability of Vanilla Bean or the charisma of Peanut, but she was the best at cuddling.

For some unknown reason her meds stopped working last week while we were on vacation, and Garbanzo passed away from her epilepsy. It was hard to get this news while we had just left. We were there for every other episode and hardship, and we desperately wanted to be there for her then, but we were too far away. Now that we are back from our trip, the grief is setting in and everyone is dealing with it in their own way.

It has been a good reminder for me that everyone find grief in different ways, and there isn’t really a right or wrong way to go about it. It’s something that happens to you, and not a task to complete. Some go through the slow burn, while other are able to tap into the grief right away. This is the first encounter with death that our oldest has encountered, and he is finding his way. The last gift Garbanzo gave him is teaching him that navigating loss is possible, and I think it will better prepare him for the future.

Around me, people are facing impossibly difficult burdens and mountains of grief much larger than the death of a family dog, but regardless, there is my grief living in the pit of my stomach needing to be felt. Grief is a weird thing. It is a necessary thing, and I do not believe it is either good or bad, it just is.

I feel like grief has always occupied a strange place in the Christian life. People die all of the time, and we are people who believe that the risen Lord that has conquered death. I honestly believe that all is reconciled with God, and we can expect to find a place in God’s Kingdom, but people and family dogs still die, and I will miss seeing them. Our path to eternal life is through resurrection, and you must first die to be resurrected. Grief is not antithetical to Christian belief, and I think without it, it cheapens Christ’s sacrifice for us.

I do not know, nor can anyone know the minutia of the afterlife. Do not believe anyone that claims otherwise. I do not know if dogs go to heaven, but I have a hunch they do. I feel tremendous sorrow for the loss of life, especially the loss of innocent life. I am often filled with frustration and anger at the senseless loss of life. I still miss my grandfather, and this week I still wait for a third dog to come inside before I go upstairs to go to bed.

Grief is weird. Regardless of how big or small you feel like it should be, it is there all of the same. If Christ can kick out a group mourning the death of a little girl, insisting that she is just sleeping, and then raise her up with the command, “little girl get up”, then go onto weep at the tomb of Lazarus, then you can meet your grief whenever it may pop up. If you want someone to walk with you, let us know, and we will be there for you. You do not have to understand, quantify or diagnose.

Blessings,

Nick