Dear Jonah,

Way back in 2010, I wrote to you about the arrival of Charlie, our new dog. You’d been part of a decade-long effort for us to get a pet. And when that effort finally bore fruit, it was part of a family strategy to survive your death. As it turns out, Charlie was an expert in grief processing. We certainly never forgot about you, but Charlie reminded us how to smile and how to laugh. Our home truly came back to life with that little mutt’s arrival.

Katie welcomes Charlie into our home on June 24, 2010

Charles Barkley Dreskin. An ironic name, to be sure, as I don’t know the first thing about sports. Well, I did know Charles Barkley’s name, even if I couldn’t tell you what sport he played. So yeah, it was a bit of a joke to call my dog Charles Barkley Dreskin. Except there was a regal quality about such a moniker. But more to the point, who wouldn’t want their dog to have a name with the word “bark” in it?

This almost sums up my nearly fifteen years with Charlie. Fun. Regal. Athletic (him, not me). Barking. And a whole lot of love from an adoring public.

You see, Charlie really did have an adoring public. Since I made at least part of my living by speaking publicly, I talked about Charlie a lot. Perhaps too much (not everyone loves dogs). But I couldn’t help myself; he gave me too many good stories. And he taught me great lessons about life.

Here’s one of them.

Of the thousands of walks that Charlie and I took, our favorites (pretty sure I can speak for him on this one) were in the dog park, on the trail that led to a wooded area in the back. In “Path Change,” a letter I wrote to you in 2012 (three years after you died), explaining how the world is often bent to the whims of nature and how we have to find new ways to get to old, familiar places — like a large, fallen branch blocking our way and requiring us to forge a new path in order to move ahead — and like a beloved son’s death blocking the way to living our lives, also requiring a new path in order to move ahead.

Here’s another story, an amazing one.

It happened on August 11, 2014. Ellen had to catch her usual 6:20 train but Aiden needed her car so I drove Ellen to the station. Charlie joined us with the promise of a romp in the dog park. After dropping Ellen, I picked up a cup of coffee and we headed to the park. Being 6:30 in the morning, we were the only ones there. Charlie wasn’t interested in our usual walk to the woods in the back so we wandered up and down the parking lot and into the grass that bordered its sides. I was sipping my coffee and listening to music as Charlie sniffed, peed and pooped when, all of a sudden, he barked and I sensed him running (before feeling the rapidly approaching yank on the leash). As I was spun around, I saw a coyote — only a little bit larger than Charlie — that had emerged from the woods. As my brain took this in, Charlie reached the end of his leash and it went flying from under my arm (as each hand had been rather foolishly holding the cup of coffee and my phone). Helplessly, I watched as the leash went bouncing along behind him and he soon disappeared into the woods. This was not the open (navigable) woods along the path in the back, but a dense (unnavigable) area that I would never have entered by choice. I braced myself for the worst and soon heard Charlie barking. He sounded far away which made sense as he was very likely pursuing the coyote, having no idea that he was being lured into the waiting clutches of the animal’s pack. I listened for sounds of pain, the cry of my puppy being attacked, but heard none. Charlie’s barking continued and I feared the worst as I ran to my car, retrieved a bat from the trunk and headed off into those woods to do battle for my family. In a surprise turn of events, I found him not far from where he entered the woods, his leash tangled around a number of small trees, which had prevented him from continuing his playful hunt. Unable to move even an inch, he appeared (thank God) unharmed as I unraveled the leash and quickly led him out of the woods, my eyes all the while watching for the coyote’s return. Two hours later, Charlie was still sleeping off the excitement. Me, I was still shaking from Charlie’s latest life-lesson for me: You never know when “coyotes” are going to wander out of the “woods,” so it’s important to have a “bat” at the ready. We never know when we’ll be required to do battle for the things that are important to us.

16 year old Charlie — same sparkle, same smile

I just hadn’t thought it would be the dog.

We had Charlie for nearly 16 years. We had you, Jonah, for 19. I don’t really know what to do with that but it sure feels profound. The only thing I do know is that after losing you, I’m so glad my heart was able to open up again to love.

The two of you are now etched on my heart forever. While I don’t know if there’s a Rainbow Bridge that reunites puppies with their humans, I certainly hope that you and he have met. I think you’ll get along great.

Meanwhile, here in the world that I do know, I carry you always. And now that I think about it, maybe the two of YOU are my “bat,” strengthening my spirit so that life remains full and very much worth being part of.

Not a bad lesson to glean from death. Thank you both for that.

Love you forever,
Dad