Assignment Understood

Sasha’s Love Letter

The wind whispers through each strand of her freshly groomed hair. Swaying gently, her long silky tri-colored mane sweeps the ground. Standing tall on the modest front stoop, she carries herself massively, contrasting reality. She is one foot tall, weighing six pounds soaking wet. Gazing intently about the street, her head oscillates, taking it all in. Studying the neighborhood block that her tiny canine frame dominates. She is calm and intentional. She is beautiful and she owns it. Sasha. Sasha! I call to her from inside the partially opened glass storm door. Her erect triangular ears pivot slightly. She hears me but fails to acknowledge my summons. She is fixated now on something I cannot see.

It was during that final Thanksgiving visit to Florida that I recognized Sasha’s compassion. There, my brother Kenny and I sat reminiscing with our terminally ill older brother in his cozy Florida home. Stan’s body, now wrecked by cancer, lay in bed with his head propped upon several pillows. Despite the warmth and layered clothing, his body shivered. Kenny sat in the black leather chair to his right. I occupied the dark worn sofa butting against the bed on his left. Sasha stood on the couch’s arm observing Stan. They had never been particularly close; she seldom paid attention to him. But now she was deliberate, studying his every grimace. While we laughed and cried, her petite legs shuffled with interest. Composed, she gingerly stretched for the bed before leaping to join him. Concerned her movement caused Stan additional pain, I lunged for her. Unfazed, she dodged my attempt, carefully inching her way closer to him. She nestled her body beside his, then rested her head on his swollen stomach. All while never breaking her stare into his eyes. 

Later that evening Stan was rushed to the hospital. Doctors cited internal bleeding within his abdomen. He died one month later on December 21, 2017.

Mom had been battling her own illness. Drastically shrinking before us, her weight plummeted for reasons unknown. Worsening matters, she suffered intense toe discomfort which failed to respond to surgery. With Mom in chronic pain, Sasha refused to leave her side. Whether Mom was seated with others around the dining table conversing or resting in bed or on the sofa, Sasha snuggled about her feet blanketing Mom’s toe with her head. But sometimes she insisted on being in Mom’s lap. And on numerous accounts she would vacillate between Mom’s feet and abdomen, appearing unsettled as to where to devote her attention. With each passing day this pattern intensified. We thought it the strangest occurrence, witnessing Sasha debate between Mom’s feet and stomach. That was, until we learned a couple of months later that Mom had a very rare cancer spreading throughout her intestines.

Five months after that diagnosis Mom received another devastating blow. Brain cancer. An unrelated finding to the cancer in her intestines. On November 8, 2018, she had brain surgery. At home later that night while holding Sasha in my arms, her body began to shake violently. Sasha’s involuntary movements continued for nearly two minutes. She was having her first seizure. The next morning, we learned that Mom had complications after we left the hospital the evening before - a mix-up in medication causing adverse effects. A check of the nurse’s log showed the medicine was administered the same time Sasha suffered her seizure.

Mom passed away three months later, on February 14, 2019. For several weeks Sasha refused to enter Mom’s room. Their connection seemingly broken.

That bond was not the only thing shattered after Mom’s passing. Her death weighed heavily on Dad. Married for over sixty years, the separation was taking its toll on him. Dad, viewed as a pillar of the community with the stout frame of an aged former athlete, was no match for grief. Brokenhearted, he began wasting away. His longing for Mom was evident even in moments of silence. That was when Sasha stepped in to serve as his companion.

Growing up Dad tolerated our dogs, frequently referring to the previous six all by the same name: Dog. He treated Sasha no differently. Move out the way, Dog. Time to eat, Dog. You want to go outside, Dog? However, there was something special about Sasha that softened Dad, eventually winning him over. Once Mom transitioned, Sasha focused on Dad fiercely. When he would lie down, she made her bed securely beside him. If he sat at the dining table gazing out the opened front door, she positioned herself alongside him piercing in the same direction. And when he planted himself on the sofa or enjoyed the warmth of being outdoors, she was right there. The two were inseparable, providing Sasha respected his boundary by not attempting to kiss his face with the lick of her tongue.

While chauffeuring Dad back from a trip to North Carolina, we chatted quite a bit. Appearing restless early into the drive, Sasha frequently switched positions from resting on the floor mat between Dad’s feet to his lap. Eventually we were forced to stop. That is when I witnessed both Sasha and Dad’s most unusual behavior. Sasha, stretching upward from Dad’s lap, raised her mouth toward his, then Dad lowered his head to meet hers. She kissed him squarely on his lips! Not turning away, Dad smiled and softly said, Sasha, while petting her petite head.

Early the next morning on March 10, 2020, Dad passed peacefully away in his sleep with Sasha by his side.

Just as with Dad and Sasha’s embrace, his unexpected demise left us in shock. Now Kenny and I were left with grieving the losses of our parents and older brother Stan, all within a span of twenty-seven months. Kenny, the constant jokester, struggled in our new world void of laughter. Born with special needs, he thrived in predictability and consistency, both of which were gone. Nothing was the same for us and a global pandemic exacerbated the matter. Our days were challenging, and it was difficult for him to express himself appropriately. Yet Sasha knew just how to lift Kenny’s mood and brighten his spirit. 

Sasha began her own comedic version of trick or treat with Kenny. Laying at the foot of my bed, she housed her treats within paw’s reach, keeping intense watch over them. Whenever Kenny walked by the room, she barked incessantly: her invitation to play. He would stop in his tracks, tilt his head to the right, and say, Whaaat? His drawn-out probing signaling the acceptance to her invitation. Game on. He approached slowly. Her barking settled. The two now engaged in a fierce stare down. Silence filled the room. Sasha studied his eyes. He held back laughter as he continued cautiously toward her. Her angst then manifested a baritone growl. She surveyed his every breath, anticipating his next move. Her docked tail wiggled profusely. Suddenly, his right arm extended toward her treats, hoping to capture just one from her custody. She lunged toward his hand and snapped at the air with a high-pitched YELP! He retreated with laughter, empty-handed. Round one: Sasha.

Sasha and Kenny’s daily play ended abruptly when he entered the hospital on March 12, 2021. He remained there, isolated for six weeks until he lost his battle to COVID-19 on April 24, 2021. Upon returning home that afternoon from my final visit with him, I approached the house to find Sasha visibly absent from her usual watchful place: the living room window sill. Inside, laying in the hallway in front of Kenny’s opened bedroom door she fixated on something in his room. Peeking in, I noticed one of Sasha’s treats on the corner of Kenny’s bed. Final round: Kenny. 

By God’s Grace, Kenny’s demise was not the end of Sasha’s beloved game. Though she became sick with pancreatitis and heart disease a year later, she picked up trick or treat with her Daddy (my husband Ed), developing an even deeper bond with him. Her sassiness would summon me to the bedroom (she only played the game if I was in bed) just to await the moment Ed walked down the hallway. That tiny tail wagging in anticipation so rapidly it generated a breeze. And once he was finally within her sight, it was game on, just as it had been with Kenny.

Sasha demanded her daddy-daughter time in other ways. Though her tiny frame should have been eclipsed by his tall, muscular build, it was Sasha who dominated their daily walks, leading Ed the entire way. The car rides where he would secure her tightly, allowing her face to kiss the wind as she leaned out the window. Yet mostly she longed for the day's end when he rubbed behind her ears until they both fell asleep. 

Just as Sasha was protective of her time with Ed, she guarded me ferociously. Anyone within arms distance of me caused her to bark loudly and continuously until they retreated. Friends approaching for a fist bump were to step back. Family going in for a hug needed to step off. It did not matter the perpetrator, she established a boundary concerning me which was to be respected. When bearing witness to my tears, a manifestation of deep-seeded pain, I sensed she understood more than I realized. She saw me clearly and was determined not to let anyone hurt me, ever. Her intense beautiful eyes constantly engaged with mine signaling she had me covered. Providing for my needs, she often sealed her love with a reaffirming kiss and immovable presence.

Trustworthy, Sasha lived fully in my moments, doing so as recently as the last two months of her life. She had one final earthly assignment before she would rest: my well-being. I was scheduled for major surgery in October, and she pressed on to see me through it, just as she had done with my four previous surgeries. But this was different. With my late parents and brothers visibly absent, she stepped in to help Ed care for me. If I was out of bed too long, she ushered me back to the bedroom. When approved for short walks, she abbreviated our strolls, sensing I had done enough. And if I sat too long, she ordered me to move. Sasha remained vigilant for six weeks until I was cleared to return to work in early December.

Sasha literally took on our pain. She suffered from chronic knee difficulties like I did, a partially collapsed trachea which made breathing a challenge, just as Kenny’s bouts of pneumonia had caused him, and like my Dad, she also developed heart disease. She began having seizures a few weeks after Mom first had hers, and just as Stan and Mom battled intestinal issues, Sasha developed pancreatic problems resulting in nausea and vomiting, the same symptoms they endured. But even still, she forged on, ensuring we were well cared for.

Sasha. Sasha! No longer ignoring my summons, she turned to enter the propped storm door. Her eyes, souring of pain, slowly met mine. There is a sadness about her. She looks tired. She misses life as it was. The longing is evident in her eyes. And though Mom, Dad, Kenny, and Stan are removed from my sight, I believe they remain in hers. Her distant stare now frequent, I sense them calling for her, and I wonder how much longer she has with us.

Two days later with her eyes fixated on ours, Ed and I watched as Sasha’s piercing gaze slowly faded away. She died peacefully in my arms on December 9, 2022. Sasha was fourteen years old.

Sasha was no ordinary pet. She carried herself more like a furry ambassador of Jesus Christ. A true companion and constant comforter, she accepted her earthly assignment and executed it with fidelity. Packed with a powerful personality and an infectious sense of humor in the tiniest frame, she epitomized the meaning of her name by fiercely defending our family through the toughest of battles. Undaunted, she boldly stared down our trials and hardships with confidence, offering compassion and love until the work was done, and teaching me to do the same. Sasha never abdicated her responsibilities, remaining true when we needed her most. I am certain she knew that with the worst of my storms over and brighter days now within my gaze, she could accept her ultimate assignment to rest eternally.

Well done, Sasha. Assignment understood.

Copy and paste the YouTube link below into your web browser to view a brief montage of our Beloved Sasha:

https://youtu.be/Pa_HO-yswcs