Jax was more than just a Dog

I used to be a real jerk about how much people would get so attached to their pets.

I used to think, "geez, it's just a dog/cat...what's the big deal?"

That all changed when I saw how heartbroken my mom was when she lost her faithful dog, Baby.

For all intents and purposes, Baby hated me. So, I never had much attachment to her. But, she was by my mother's side for the better part of a decade. She was her companion. She was her friend. She was part of the family.

When Baby died, we lost a part of the family. Losing a part of the family sucks. I finally understood how people could get attached to these silly pets.

I was attached to a silly pet, his name was Jax.

Jax was more than just a dog.

He was Tiffany's first dog.

He was our dog.

Everybody loved Jax.

Jax was rescued by my friends Eric and Julie Beer. Jax was being neglected by his owner. He was left outside in freezing temperatures. Weather so severe that it left frostbite marks on his body. Weather so severe that his chain would be frozen to the ground and he wouldn't be able to lift his head. He had a permanent mark around his neck where that chain used to be. He was also severely malnourished. When Eric and Julie rescued him he was skin and bones, almost unrecognizable to the healthy 80 pound dog he was supposed to be. When Eric took him to the vet for the first time, the vet didn't charge them a dime to get Jax everything he needed to start nursing him back to health.

Eric and Julie gave him a loving home and nursed him back to health.

Not long after Tiffany and I were married, we started talking about getting a dog. I didn't want one because we traveled too much. But, she argued that it'd be nice to have a dog at the house with her to keep her "safe" while I was working late nights or out of town. Of course, she eventually wore me down and we started thinking of what kind of dog we could get.

(For the record, Jax only looked like a good guard dog. On several occasions, friends and repairmen came into the home while we were gone and Jax never even bothered to check them out or bark. He was usually found in this position or something similar...so much for keeping Tiffany "safe" while I was away.)

Tiffany and I decided that we liked Bully breeds and we'd probably look for something in that family. Shortly after that, we were at Eric and Julie's house for a church game night gathering and we saw Jax for the first time.

It was love at first sight.

That lazy pup walked right up to us, plopped down, rolled over on his back, and demanded that his belly be rubbed.

It wasn't long after that night that Julie and Eric asked us if we wanted Jax. They knew we wanted a Bully and they had originally only planned on keeping Jax long enough to nurse him back to health, but they kept him longer because he was just too damned lovable. 

It didn't take us long to say yes.

Tiffany loved that dog.

I did too, of course.

Another reason we wanted a dog was to make us learn how to adapt our busy lives to take care of something. If we could adapt to having a dog, we could adapt to having a kid. I know, there's a big difference between pets and kids, but you catch my drift.

So, we had this big dog, and we took him everywhere. He was a road warrior. One summer, Tiffany drove him all the way to the cabin in Northern Minnesota by herself, and I drove him all the way back by myself. That's a 14 hour trip, one way! He made the trip there and back twice.

Jax was our boy, and we loved him dearly.

He slept 20 hours a day.

He snored.

He farted all the time.

He did no tricks.

He often made one of us late to work because he took his sweet time going potty in the morning.

He didn't like to play.

He only wanted one thing in life, he just wanted his belly rubbed.

Everybody loved him.

He was a great first dog for Tiffany. 

He was the perfect dog to match my laid back attitude.

He was a part of our happy little family.

After the accident, I couldn't take care of Jax any more. I was very nomadic during the early months. It wasn't fair to him that I would be home even less than I was before.

The night of the accident, Eric and Julie took him back into their home. They kept him until I could find him another home.

In the days following the accident, several people were generous enough to offer to take Jax in.

Ultimately, Jax went to live with Brian and Rachel Jackson...and of course, their pug Herman.

I was so thankful that they took him in. They gave him a loving home and I could see him anytime I wanted to.

A few weeks ago, they had to have Jax neutered. The vet was concerned that his production of testosterone was negatively affecting his prostate.

Much like old men, old male dogs suffer from prostate problems too.

After the surgery, Jax was on heavy pain meds and appeared to be doing better. However, once they started weaning him off the meds, he slowly got worse. Noticeably worse. So, they took him back in to the vet.

The vet deduced that something bigger was probably going on with his prostate or other internal organs. It was probably cancer. He only seemed better while he was on the pain meds because they were covering up all of his pain, not just his post-surgery pain.

Chances are, he'd probably been in pain a long time. The vet told Brian and Rachel that the Bully breeds are know for being tough, stoic dogs who won't let on that they're hurting because they don't want to inconvenience their owner. They're that loyal.

Faced with limited options, we decided it was best to have Jax put to sleep. It was the most loving and ethical decision.

(Brian called to discuss all of this with me last Friday. So, if you saw a big, bearded guy crying in the Denver airport, it was probably me.)

I had the option to go see him one last time, but I couldn't. His passing was going to be hard enough to face as it is. Seeing him in person and rubbing his belly would only make it that much harder.

Jax was put to sleep last evening.

Brian stayed with him the whole time.
(Poor Brian. Not only did he have to put my dog down, he had the unfortunate task of calling all of my close friends to tell them about the accident because his was the only phone number I could remember.)

Jax was more than just a dog.

He was Tiffany's dog.

He was our dog.

He was a part of our little family.

That family of three has been reduced to one.

I'm going to miss Jax, but obviously, the tears I cry are covering a multitude of grief platforms.

Jax was one more thing that Tiffany and I shared that is now gone.

I knew that he would die someday, but Hell, we're all gonna die someday. Acknowledging that doesn't make it any easier when it actually happens. 

I hope that we can all take comfort in knowing that the last half of his life was Heaven compared to the Hell he faced for the first half of his life.

He was surrounded by people who loved him.

Jax was more than just a dog.

Jax was our companion.

In Genesis, the author teaches us that God created animals to be our helpers, to be our companions.

Jax certainly helped us enjoy life more. He helped us learn more about love, selfless love.

I thank God for Jax, and it may sound silly, but I believe I'll see Jax again. 

Not only do we learn about God creating animals in Genesis, the author of Revelation tells us that every living creature in Heaven and on Earth and under the Earth sings praises to God in the final days. I believe I'll see Jax there, along with every other person and animal that I love.

Jax was more than just a dog.

Jax was a beautiful creature of God, and he taught me a lot about love.

Rest in Peace sweet boy, until we meet again...

It's Been a Year

I've heard it said that losing a loved one can be like losing a part of your body. Part of you is missing. You can't replace it. You can try to find substitutes, but you can never truly replace what you have lost. 

You can also learn how to continue living life after you lose a body part. You may walk with a limp, or you may never throw a football again. But, you can learn to do other things. You can still manage to live. You can find other hobbies, you can find new things that will make you happy.

But, a part of you will always be missing.

You may not always think about it, but occasionally you will be reminded. You will see someone else walking with a limp. You will encounter someone who is struggling with what they've lost. And, it will remind you of what you've lost. In those moments you can find strength and solidarity in knowing that you're not the only one. Or, you will be reminded of what you used to have, and how hard it is to go on without it.

Losing a loved one is a lot like losing a part of your body, much of what I said above still applies. The biggest difference is, others can't see it. Others cannot see the hole in your heart. Only you, and those close to you, know that it is there. And, it's a lot harder for people to notice when it's causing you to struggle.

One year ago today, I lost a piece of my heart.

One year ago today, my wife died in a car accident. 

It still feels like yesterday.

It still feels surreal.

I can still hear her voice when I think about her.

I can still see her beautiful face when I close my eyes.

I went to our old house last week to pick up our vacuum cleaner that I had left behind for the cleaning crew. As I walked around the empty rooms looking at the places where so much life had occurred, I was prepared to let myself grieve. But, nothing was coming. This was kind of a good sign. It let me realize that maybe I had properly done all the grieving that I needed to do in that space. But, on my way out, I stood and looked at the door that leads to the garage, a door that I had watched her walk through a thousand times, and I thought about how I'd give anything to watch her walk through that door one more time. Then, I was overcome with emotion.

It's been a year.

It's been a year, and I still miss so much about her:

-I miss her enthusiastic, contagious laughter

-I miss how she would steal my wool hunting socks and I could never find them when I was looking for them

-I miss how she would have to hang her clothes out to dry all over the house so that they wouldn't shrink

-I miss how she would destroy the kitchen when she'd cook

-I miss the freckle in her palm that I would only notice when I gave her communion

-I miss how controlled her climate and environment would have to be in order for her to sleep

-I miss the funny things she would say on the nights she'd take Ambien

-I miss her impeccable planning and organizational skills

-I miss how much she hated cats

-I miss how she would call me out on my bullshit

-I miss the way she would wave her hand in the air while she would "rap" the parts of her favorite songs

-I miss making fun of her accent when it'd come through

-I miss her only understanding half of what I said because of my accent

-I miss how much she loved and supported me

-I miss how easy it was to love her

I miss her from the deepest part of my being.

It's been a year.

Where do I go from here?

I don't honestly know.

I'm just going to keep moving forward the way I have tried to, with the help of God, my family, and my friends.

What does the one year anniversary mean anyway?

I know it's not going to magically stop hurting because it has been a year. The year mark is something we do as humans because we love to quantify things. But the truth is, it only measures that it's been 365 days since we've suffered an unspeakable loss. Nothing more. Things do get different over time, but it's not the time elapsed that changes things, it's what we do with that time.

Perhaps because of this "year" mark, I will allow myself to grow and heal in different ways. Perhaps, I will give myself permission to do so.

But, the truth is, I've been growing and healing for many months thanks to the work of the Holy Spirit and God's word made flesh in the people who have surrounded me. It's been a slow process, and I'm still a work in progress.

One of my biggest fears is the worry that because we've hit the "one year" mark people are going to expect me to have all of my shit together. Or, I'm going to be less patient with myself and think that I should have all of my shit together. But, if we can be honest with ourselves, none of us really ever have all of our shit together. We only convince ourselves and others that we have our shit together enough to pull off what we're trying to do in life, and we trust that God will sustain us along the way and strengthen us when we falter.

It's been a year.

I can't be more thankful for the love, prayers, and support that many of you have given me.

It's been a year.

I've made it this far, I might as well keep going.

It's been a year.

And a day will never go by that I don't miss her.

Grace and Peace,

Robert