It's been over a month since Duke left his body. I adopted him as a puppy, though who adopted who is open to debate! He was small enough to be cradled in my cupped palms. At the time, I was not yet married and still firmly ensconced in my career at Microsoft. He was a fan-favorite at my office, where I'd sneak him in to hang out as I worked after hours many evenings.
Together with my soon-to-be-wife's dog Spike, they would often break out of our yard and venture down the street to a neighborhood park to play with other dogs and humans while I was working. They would always somehow find their way home. We still don't know how they kept doing it safely, though given the presence of awesome neighbors who cared for them like we did, they always had a trusted guide to get them around. Locals would often stop to give pets and sneak them treats through our fence.
Over the years Duke's been my trusty co-pilot through marriage, leaving my career, traveling like a vagabond, living like a hermit out of a car with my wife, and eventually, starting a family and moving across multiple states and homes over the past 14 years. Sprawling on the floor near my home office, he bore witness to countless coaching sessions with tech professionals, leaders, execs and even a few CEOs and medical doctors who sought my support. Don't worry - he kept your data safe and secure! A common denominator across all of it has been Duke. Until about a month ago.
As an old dog, Duke's slowing down was not a surprise. Yet, I still expected to have another good year with him. His spirit was full of gusto to the end. He never lacked an appetite and while his achy joints made our walks more like slow strolls to the neighbor's mailbox instead of epic hikes, he was in fair shape. That is, until he wasn't. In the end, we don't know exactly what the cause of body-death was. His belly began to enlarge and numerous medical exams pointed to a shutdown of his kidneys, potentially due to the presence of cancer. It had clearly spread.
Yet, he was seemingly pain-free, just very tired all the time. We knew Duke's final days were fast approaching when he stopped choosing to walk up steps, then suddenly, struggled to stand at all and walk on his own power. We made the decision to let him pass away with dignity, surrounded by his humans and the comforts of home. A kind and warm-hearted vet joined us in our living room for Duke's final moments.
I found solace in coming across a quote while preparing for Duke's final day. It said something to the effect of, "How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." A line from Winnie-the-Pooh I think. It helped me see the loss from a different place in my heart, a place that allows the grief to fade into love and appreciation for having had such a trusty companion during a very uncertain and profoundly transformative (and at times very hard) period in my life.
Duke taught me to always seize the moment and be up for anything. His zest for living never left him, even if his joints wouldn't allow his body to do what his mind was up for in his later years. His passing left me with a profound lesson that I struggle to put into words. But I'll try.
In all my spiritual pursuits and personal development education, being present and in the moment is both a fundamental teaching and also a cliché. The problem with clichés is that they are often true. On the other side of profound grief and loss, I'm finding a deep love for just being with what is in front of me. In those final days with Duke, when I was with him all day and night, my soul kept pointing me back to the present moment with the line: "Nothing is more important than THIS"...on repeat. I couldn't shut it up, so I took it to heart.
At times I found myself missing meals, something I never do. Other times I would just sit on my living room floor, often in the middle of the night, with one hand on Duke and my eyes staring off into liminal space for what seemed like hours at a time. Smartphone and internet distractions seemed pointless. While I might be describing a depressive episode to some, I can promise you that no part of me was depressed. I wanted nothing more than to live and be fully alive, in the NOW. Everything else just faded into the background.
Of course, with young kids and a busy life, I also did my best - which was only possible with my wife - to care of everything else that needed to be done. Just a few coaching sessions were on the calendar (as my sabbatical is under way) but laundry, groceries, caring for our other dog Koda, getting the kids to school, playing with them after school, bedtime routines, etc. were all in full force. Life doesn't stop even when a loved one is in the end-game of life.
After Duke passed, and the grief came on stronger than I could bear, it gracefully passed over in waves, as it continues to even today as I type these words. Each time, it leaves the same lesson using different words. "Pay attention," "Love the living," "Don't waste this moment," and of course "Nothing is more important than THIS." It's like he's making sure I really got the message. I promise you Duke, I get it!
I've lost many loved ones in my life: our beloved dog Spike 10 years ago, my father 6 years ago, and four other members of my extended family in the past six months alone. Grief, while not an emotion I'd wish on anyone, can serve as a powerful reminder to focus on what is most important. The potency and beauty of grief is that it cuts through intellectual noise and blows a foghorn through the emotional system, clearing it of debris. On the other side of it, in my experience, is a clarity and an immense feeling of love and joy that can only emerge from the heart. It cannot be willed or forced by the head.
Duke's parting gift was this. Buster, I got you, loud and clear!
Om shanti shanti shanti
Om peace peace peace
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