We had just returned home after our annual trip to the Middletown Grange Fair. It was a choreographed move on our part, unbeknownst to Bryan. We set up the goodbye session knowing that the next day, our dearest Golden Girl, Coda, would cross the Rainbow Bridge at our home. Bryan still is unaware that we had to put her to sleep. He knows she passed away. That is enough for him to grasp. Bryan seemed to know that she wasn’t doing so well as he talked to her, petted her and comforted her as she lay on her pad in the kitchen. We let them alone together for about ten minutes, then took Bryan back to his apartment.

Coda’s legs had totally given out and her quality of life quickly diminished during her last week of life. How blest we were to have had her for seventeen years, three months and six days! An unusual lifespan for a golden retriever.

I went to his apartment the day after it happened, praying fervently for the right words to say. When I approached him in his bedroom and said, “Buddy, Coda died yesterday”, he first looked at me incredulously, eyes blinking rapidly. Then, the anger burst from within and he began pounding on his desk and the chair he was sitting on with a cry of anguish.

He jumped up from his chair and rushed across the room to grab ahold of me as I sat on his bed. He clung to me for quite sometime, sobbing, rocking and crying from deep in his gut. I tried to comfort him, holding back my tears so as to not make it even harder for him. Placating words like “She lived to such a ripe old age for a Golden”. “We were so lucky to have her for so long.” didn’t really help. They didn’t help me much when friends uttered those same sentiments. It is still a very raw pain, no matter how long you have your dear pet with you. And when you have to make one of the most difficult decisions in your life, you feel like a piece of your world is ending, which it is.

After letting go of his emotions, Bryan said to me and to his roommate who watched all of this from the hallway, “I need to be alone”. I honored that, said goodbye to him, and his roommate walked me down to my car. The roommate was wonderfully supportive of both of us through this, being a dog-lover himself. I got updates on how Bryan was doing from him throughout the weekend.

After church the next day, Bryan went up to our Rector and asked for prayers, which he was granted. I felt so good inside to know that Bryan felt comfortable enough to approach him and make this request. And that he felt the need for kind, loving words. The healing had begun.

Like us, there will be moments when tears begin to flow at unexpected times. Seeing the golden retriever being walked in the neighborhood. Finding a tuft of Coda fluff inside and outside the house. Coming home to an empty house with no tail wag to greet you.

Bryan discovered that fact this Sunday when he came to our house after church. He walked in and looked down at the spot where he’d last seen Coda alive. There were no tears, just a heartfelt sigh and the words, “I must be brave and have honor”. I replied, “Bry, it’s OK to still cry and feel sad. You don’t have to always be brave when you feel sad.” He nodded and I brought him the lovely wooden box with her named inscribed on a brass plate. CODA. Her cremains. A concrete reminder of a life well-lived. He nodded solemnly, then walked away. A tough life lesson which will take him a good while to assimilate. As it will for all of us.

I sent Bryan every picture I could find of the two of them together throughout every stage of those seventeen years. His supports team was alerted and he shared pictures and thoughts with them. Coda was a friend to Bryan who didn’t care that Bryan stutters or has difficulty doing things. That unconditional love of a dog is a priceless gift. Probably one of the most valuable lessons Bryan will ever learn.