Today I am navigating grief. Love, loss, and irony have been on my mind since my last article in which I wrote about my sweet Cockapoo Roman. In that article I said that I didn’t know if he would make it to 19. He barely lived 24 hours from the time I posted that article.
I began that morning as I do every morning, reading my Bible and journaling a short prayer. I read Psalm 36, which was the next Psalm in my reading schedule. The verse that spoke to me, and that I copied into my journal, was verse 6: “Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains, your judgments are like the great deep; you save humans and animals alike, O Lord.”
Following the verse, I wrote this prayer:
Thank You Lord, that You love all Your creation and save all who trust in You. Than You for pets who enrich our lives and show us how to love. I pray for Roman, Lord, that You would watch over him until it’s his time to come home.
Grief and Answered Prayer
I wasn’t ready for Roman to go home to heaven. We never really are with our beloved pets. But I know God answered my prayer. He arranged so that our whole family could be there when Roman passed into new life. I was comforted by the verse I had read just that morning, knowing God had saved my beloved dog from enduring any more pain in this life. Now he has his missing eye and toe back. I believe that he is romping through the fields of heaven chasing a toy and playing with all the other dogs and dog lovers who’ve gone on before.
Love Immortalized in Words
A couple of years ago, I submitted a story about Roman, titled “Our Miracle Dog,” to Chicken Soup for the Soul. It took two years before they contacted me to tell me they wanted to publish it in a compilation titled “Lessons Learned from My Dog.” The story is a heartwarming tale of God’s protection over our little dog. In memory of Roman at his passing, I thought I would share the story here.
I am sharing it as I submitted it to Chicken Soup, with the one edit I suggested. As submitted, the end of the story included the phrase, “Thirteen years later.” By the time it was published, it was actually fifteen years after the main events of the story. I was delighted that the editor was able to make that change before publication.
Our Miracle Dog
Capilano Suspension Bridge Park in Vancouver, B.C., provided the backdrop for the closing event of the conference I was attending. It was a beautiful location to spend time with these work colleagues I’d come to cherish. The conversation turned to dogs and I pulled out my phone to show off a picture of my adorable Cockapoo named Roman. At three and a half he still looked like a puppy.
That’s when I noticed I had missed a call from my husband Randy. Over the din of 350 lively attendees, I hadn’t heard it ring. His message said, “Call me.” I decided to wait until I returned to my room. While I was on the bus back to the hotel, he called again and this time I answered. “What’s up?”
“Where are you?”
“Still on the bus on our way back to the hotel.”
“Okay, call me when you get back.” He sounded more agitated than he had in his voicemail, but I brushed it off as my own mix of excitement and exhaustion that comes on the tail end of a three-day conference.
Back at the hotel I saw a note for me on the conference message board. “Call your husband.” Now I was getting worried. Back in my room the red message light flashed on the hotel phone. It was Randy. Once again the only message was, “Call me as soon as you can.” A million scenarios of what might be wrong—because something was definitely wrong—flew through my mind.
I pulled my cell phone from my purse and hit redial. “What is going on? You have me worried.”
“Everything is okay,” he said, “but Roman got run over by a car.”
My heart sank. How could everything possibly by “okay” when the unthinkable had happened to my sweet little puppy? I wished I could sprout wings and fly home right then, or rent a car and drive like crazy, but I had to wait until the next day for my one-hour flight home.
“Tell me what happened.” And so, Randy recounted the tale of Roman’s accident.
Randy and our son Benton were having a water balloon fight in the front yard. They were going in and out the front door to reload their store of neon-colored water balloons. One of the times the door was opened, Roman caught sight of a big dog walking by with its owner. He didn’t allow other dogs in “his road.”
Before Randy could stop him, Roman made a beeline for the dog, running across our lawn, between the rose bushes, up over the retaining wall, and in front of our Kia Rio parked on the street. He never made it to the dog.
At that exact moment a Volkswagen Beetle drove up the street. The driver never saw the tiny black ball of fur run in front of her. And because he had a cataract and was mostly blind on that side—and was keenly focused on the offending dog in his road—Roman never saw the VW.
Our neighbor, who is a fireman, was out in his yard when it happened. He rushed over and checked Roman for broken bones and found none. Randy then carefully picked him up and laid him in the backseat of our Ford Escape. He drove to the emergency vet clinic while Benton sat beside his injured friend, gently petting his head.
At the vet, Randy carried Roman in and said, “My dog got run over by a car!”
“Bring him back this way,” the vet tech said. The vet ordered X-rays, which revealed Roman had no internal injuries. The incident cracked, but did not break, two of his ribs.
“We do not see dogs who have been hit by a car come in like this,” the vet said. “I can’t believe he is even alive, much less has no serious injuries. He’ll be in pain for a few weeks but should heal without further veterinary intervention.” The vet sent Randy home with pain medicine and orders to make sure Roman got plenty of rest.
When I got home from my conference the next day, it was the first time in three years that Roman didn’t come running to greet me. He lay under our China hutch sleeping. I got down on the floor next to him and kissed his nose. He barely lifted his head and looked at me. “Don’t get up, sweetie,” I said. “I’m so glad you’ll be okay.”
Four days later, Roman brought me his tennis ball to play fetch, tossing it up on the couch next to me like he always did. I wanted to throw it for him, but because the vet ordered no running or playing fetch for at least two weeks, I just dropped the ball on the floor in front of him. He didn’t seem to understand.
The following week, I spoke to a neighbor who watched the whole incident from the nearby intersection. He said both the front and back tires of the Beetle rolled right over the top of Roman. Over 3,000 pounds on top of a mere 24 pounds. It’s a miracle his guts weren’t all over the road. As the neighbor recounted what he witnessed, I imagined an angel hovering over Roman at the point of impact, protecting him from harm. Perhaps it was the very hand of God that held off the full weight of the car.
Out of this potential tragedy came a blessing. The incident taught Roman that if you run out the front door without permission, then you’re likely to get hurt. This was helpful the next year when we remodeled our house. Contractors went in and out the front door, often propping it wide open to haul in materials. Roman never once ventured across the threshold without one of us. I wonder if his guardian angel stood beside him reminding him to stay in the safety of the house.
Fifteen years later, people often mistake Roman for a puppy, albeit a puppy with a bit of gray around the edges. He still doesn’t like other dogs in his road, loves to play fetch, and is quite oblivious to cars when we are on a walk. He still has no idea what hit him that day or what a miracle it is that he’s alive.
Navigating Grief of Loss
The last two weeks have been hard. We shed a lot of tears, watched a lot of videos of Roman, and began the hard process of picking up the daily reminders of his existence. I’ve said to a few people, “He was 18 and a half, so it’s not like we didn’t expect it.” Each person I said this to reminded me that the fact that he was old doesn’t negate the grief I am feeling over losing him.
Those assurances have helped me navigate this grief, giving me permission to cry when I need to. I’ve been reminded of how important it is to give others space to grieve when they lose a loved one, whether human or animal.
Remembering God’s promise of Psalm 36:6 also helps in navigating this loss. I know some people think animals don’t go to heaven, but there are clear indications in Scripture that they do. How else would Jesus be riding a horse at the end of time? And why would God create such wonderful animal companions and then not have them in heaven?
I don’t understand why dogs don’t live as long as us, but am thankful that they grace our lives. The memory of my adorable puppy and the knowledge that he made me a better person bring me comfort.
Closing Prayer on Navigating Grief
Heavenly Father, navigating grief can be so hard. I pray for each person reading this article who is struggling to navigate the grief of losing a loved one, human or animal. Be our great Comforter and safe place to grieve. Grant us peace and space; bring compassionate people into our paths to encourage us; remind us daily of how much You love and care for the ones we have lost. In Jesus’s name, amen.
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