Frankie Has Crossed The Rainbow
We lost a family member this past week. A hero, really.
At the approximate age of 21, Carmen and I had to help Frankie jump over the rainbow.
Approximate, I say for two reasons. First, he came into the family from a shelter. Thus, his exact age remained a closely-guarded secret that he shared with no one. And, secondly, Approximate is how Frankie lived his life. Every time we would think he was really starting to show pretty impressive intelligence, he would do something utterly mindless. He would know the exact moment that you need a nuzzling from him, and the next he would pee on the dining room rug. He could walk by your side without a leash one day, and wander into the street the next. He was a believer in getting things approximately right.
There was one element of interspecies habitation where he got things exactly right. He adored Carmen. She was the constant member of the family who never left his home. The center of his universe and his devotion to her was unwavering. He, in turn, was her constant companion for more years than anyone, including her daughters. They were together for nearly a third of her life. He would follow her around the house. He would stand and look at her as though her very being meant everything to him. It was a mutual love without parallel.
Frankie’s life got off to a rough start. We know nothing of it until one day the workers coming to a shelter in the morning found a box on the steps. In the box was a black and white Pomeranian pooch, roughly a few years old. His life before that day was something he never spoke of. But, in a striking moment of good fortune, Carmen’s young girls fell in love with that fuzzy little face and his life would take a tremendous turn for the better.
Through grade school, and then high school, Frankie would be a constant source of joy in their lives. Celebrating wildly when one of his pack came through the door, he would always greet with a shower of sharp little barks and a madly spinning swirl of monochromatic fur. Sheer joy in the moment is the only emotion he ever displayed.
As college and life called them away from home, absorbing the boundless energy he shed even more readily than fur became my calling. Frankie and I would walk miles every day. We lived near a creek that ran through Arlington, Virginia at the time and he loved to stroll the path along that creek. He had no interest in the water, but would eagerly listen endlessly to the stream of thoughts I shared with him. Always listening, always engaged, but never judgmental. There is a lesson there for all of us.
But time is no friend to any of us. Although he defied aging with an envious vigor, it would begin to grip his existence. Sleep became more important than walks. One day the doctor told us that Frankie had an enlarged heart, fluid in his lungs, and a failing liver. Exercise was no longer advisable. His life became more sedentary and filled with thrice-daily medications. Even still, the happiness emanated from him.
“It might be time to say goodbye,” the doctor advised. Both Frankie and I ignored her suggestions with disdain.
When it came time for us to move to our new home in Costa Rica, Frankie was eager to go along. Already more than a year past the end date the vet had recommended, moving to the tropics was something he eagerly embraced. For a year and eight months, Frankie enjoyed sunsets on the beach and peeing on the palm tree outside our front door. Although his desire for long walks had faded away, he loved to stand under the tropical sun and enjoy all the world has to offer. His strength actually grew in this welcoming environment and, despite crossing the phenomenal milestone of twenty years, he continued to be the happiest creature on earth.
But as his twenty-first year on this earth settled upon him, so did the difficulties of an expiring body. The medications could no longer keep him feeling well, and we had to finally help him move on from this world. The veterinarian who had helped him during our time in Costa Rica came to the house. With Frankie lying on the couch between Carmen and me, she helped him fall asleep and cross the rainbow.
The pain is ours now, and it is acute. There is a hole in the life force of our home that will not soon fade. Frankie was full of inspiration. He inspired us to always keep going, to always find some way to enjoy the moment, to always be happy. My life is richer for having had him in it, and poorer for having lost him.
I have to believe that we will one day be reunited. To believe anything else would drive me to madness.
