Louisville’s Dog: On Sunshine, Grief, and Triumph
By Kelsey Westbrook & Jamie Davis
“In the end, she became more than what she expected. She became the journey, and like all journeys, she did not end. She simply changed directions and kept going.” — R.M. Drake
It’s been one year without her. Three hundred sixty-five days without my Sunshine, my guiding light, my compass. A year ago today, just a few hours from now, I was holding my precious, beautiful child in my arms for the very last time, in our backyard encircled by honeysuckle on a Guatemalan blanket. To share the sentiments of Patton Oswalt on the loss of his wife last year, “I’m one year into this new life,” and that’s exactly what it feels like. A new and unfamiliar place without Sunny’s presence. And in this new life I’ve allowed myself to feel both deep, gut-wrenching sorrow, and at the same time, I’ve pushed it away. I’ve seen beautiful parts of this earth and known true joy. I’ve endured grief and I’ve felt triumph and I’ve learned that humanity is a limitless, absorbing, pulsating organ within us all. I’ve been ashamed when I’ve allowed happiness to creep in without her here. I’ve felt the inertia of deep sorrow — an anguished force, and I’ve allowed the warmth of the sun to blanket me in comfort and known that it’s her. Cradling me and pushing me to continue moving forward on this journey.
This morning, as the sun arose and steadied itself above the trees, I sat with my coffee and a book of poetry gifted to me by my late father in 2009. He wrote a heartfelt inscription inside the cover and shortly thereafter, Sunny (with her permanent puppy mentality) took it upon herself to chew up a few pages and tear up the cover and binding while I was out one day. I remember being furious with her, both when it happened and then again when he passed away in 2013. Yet, now, I run my fingers up the rigid pages, bound together by withering cardboard, replete with Sunny’s teeth marks. The letters on the binding are worn and barely readable in silver print: “Without Armor,” Poems by Jewel Kilcher. I graze each page with my hands, feeling the pliable edges of the binding and the marks from her canines. I think fondly about her mischievous spirit and the guilty look on her face when I’d find her getting into something she knew she shouldn’t. I was so frustrated with her at the time, and now, as I hold this tattered book in my arms, I know this is the only physical item I own that’s been touched by both my father and my Sunny girl. And I smile through the tears. Because she is continually finding a way to send me gifts, to help me draw strength from the folds of these moments.
Most impressive was her ability to teach me about myself. Sometimes it felt like she would test my patience only to expose my lack of it on that specific day. So that when I’d finally reach my breaking point and bark at her to quit whatever she was doing, she could tilt her head at me as if to say, “why are you getting so upset?” It frustrated me even more to know she was right, but it was always a well-deserved insight. I often made the joke that Sunny was Thurman Murman and I was Billy Bob Thornton from Bad Santa, illustrated by the way she would innocently point out my flaws until I lost my temper and exclaimed, “Are you f***ing with me?!” I think I take myself too seriously at times.
One year into this new life, the gifts she sends my family and this earth are endless. When it comes to the loss of life, we are luckier than most, as we’ve been encircled with more love and support than we deserve. The humans she brought together are not only my family, they are dedicated and unwavering and selfless. They are freedom fighters. Her glow is within each one of them and my heart swells with pride when I see them do something truly remarkable in the name of Saving Sunny. On more than one occasion, there have been times when I’ve been out at an event or a park and a stranger has approached to tell me, “I owe everything to Sunny.” Be it because they adopted their best friend from our organization or perhaps Saving Sunny helped them with resources to keep their pup. They feel as though they owe everything to her, and that sentiment shakes me to my core. I’ve known far before her death that I, myself, owed her everything, but a stranger? To continuously see the ripple effect she has had in our community, that her existence has touched countless lives, only further perpetuates the notion that she not only saved me — she saved us all.
They say time flies when you’re having fun. Somehow, this year flew the fastest while void of the soul who managed to have the most fun of us all, every single day. Not sure how to break that one down. Just a thought. Sunny wasn’t stingy with her fun. In fact, she forced it upon you. In her eyes, there was no reason for us all not to have it. And although not every aspect of Sunny’s life was always fun, she stored that flame within her heart full of unconditional love for the very species that failed her in the first place. There’s a lot to learn from that. Just one of many lessons she taught me — yet another one of her gifts.
Still, she manages to keep me in check. Every foster we’ve had in the past year has carried some sort of Sunny quality. Whether it was a love and gentleness for kids, a constant desire to be in contact with us or a general enthusiasm to live in the moment, she has found a way to show herself. Maybe it’s a coincidence. Maybe it’s the breed. I can’t help but feel like it’s bits of her energy funneled into every dog that she saves.
The day Sunny passed, 1700 miles away, so did my Aunt Becky. A week before, my Grandma Joan. Cancer times three. At one point, I was in the hospital in Tucson with my Grandma and the next day I was back in Louisville for Sunny’s ice cream social. These are disoriented memories to say the least. The funny thing is, during the entirety of these experiences, Sunny managed to still comfort me when I was so focused on comforting her. Another battle she’d never let me win. She took on my burdens and then some, showing little to no pain because that was just her resilient self.
But at the end of the day, this isn’t about us and our grief. No, this is much bigger. To see how her passing affected the community was both devastating and uplifting. Though she was gone in a physical sense, there was never any doubt that her legacy would be perpetuated through the efforts of everyone she touched. Today isn’t just the anniversary of her departure. Today is also the anniversary of friends, family members and strangers coming together to make our family feel like the most loved on the planet while making the commitment of ensuring Sunny’s work would continue. What a remarkable thing to come from what feels like such a tragedy. And as painful as this kind of day can be, I realize it’s important for me to relish in the fact that I was able to know her in the first place, let alone call her my dog (as I proudly did). For that, I am eternally grateful. So, as I go about my day, reminiscing & grieving, I will simultaneously mourn for those who didn’t get to meet her. And as far as the next year goes, I’ll be surveying the sunsets for my next lessons. We all miss her knowing presence, her unrelenting happiness, her constant emission of light, beaming and encircling all those around her. She cradled every living being with love. With the warmth of the sun. That was her true purpose. It is my forever goal to see life through her lens.
Long live the queen.
