Notes from Maine - 2024/04/21

My friend Finn (English Mastiff) passed away last weekend. I should say “our” friend—Finn was loved by many. He lived a long, happy life here. For the past ten years, we spent nearly every day together, and I treasured his company. His presence was a blessing, his final moments peaceful, and his loss has dug a deep, dry well in my heart. 

It feels like I’ve been through this too many times. The longer we live, the more friends we lose and it doesn’t get easier. I’m more careful now to count my blessings and recognize those little moments that I will later cherish. By now, a hundred words into this essay, Finn would have come to my side and snuck his nose under my elbow. He knew that I would never choose typing over scratching his head. Finn was able to demand my attention any time, especially in these last few months as his decline became more evident. 

A few days ago, I woke and tried to make sense of this new world. Maybe this sounds too dramatic. Nothing is more predictable than the eventual passing of a nearly eleven-year-old giant dog. But I’ve lived in this house for more than twenty years and nearly half of those Finn lived here with me. The world has changed, and I legitimately struggle to establish my footing again. I have a very small family here. A limited cast of characters interacts within these walls, and one very charismatic member of our family has disappeared. The change is dramatic. 

Albert (three year old German Shepherd) is adjusting slowly as well. He would always eat after Finn finished his food. He would only go out to the side yard if Finn led the way. Albert is opinionated and strong-willed, but he seemed to define himself based on his relation to Finn. His personality is changing as he figures out how to be the only dog here. 

I received so many wonderful and heartfelt messages since last week’s post. This is a painful follow-up. The best any of us can hope for is a long, happy life, surrounded by love and a merciful end out in the sun with our best friend by our side. In all those ways Finn’s life was a perfect success. 

Each morning is now a tiny bit easier than the previous and my mourning is accompanied by the painful truth that life will keep moving. The world keeps spinning even when you don’t need it to.