Izzy was faithful to Helen and Warren to the end. During the service, he lay underneath
the casket until it was over.

May 6, 2008 – So this, then, is the last Hospice Journal entry for Helen, and for the experience of visiting with her and Warren, and Izzy and Lenore, for the past few months.
Selfishly, this was a gift to me, as a human, a writer, a spiritual seeker, a friend, a photographer and lover of dogs. I will miss it. The Hospice Journal will continue, but this chapter ended today, when Helen was buried in the family cemetery in Hebron, N.Y.
  I will be thinking about this encounter for a long time, but tonight, Rose and I took the sheep out and I thought about the point of it, the meaning beyond the obvious power of a great love story that ended inevitably and tragically.
  First, it was an affirmation of life. As Helen put it, she loved being Helen and loved sharing her life with Warren. At the end, during a long and debilitating illness, the couple shared many memories, and an affection that seemed undiluted by 60 years of marriage.
  Then, it was an affirmation of death. More than anything, Helen and Warren wished for Helen to die at home, and for them to remain together. They got their wish. That is a victory, for them and everyone who faces this greatest of dramas.
  Today, I felt a chill rush up my spine, as Pastor Steve McLean invoked the ancient words, “dust to dust, ashes to ashes.” This experience is over. This experience has just begun.
  My encounter with Helen was an affirmation of the Hospice idea. Death is always sad, but it does not have to be depressing, and it can – as it was here – be beautiful and uplifting. Helen was not shunned, not isolated, not forced into a hospital or nursing home against her will, not pressured into undergoing more painful medical or surgical procedures, not abandoned to the health care system, not separated from her family or her garden. She and Warren had to change, and their home had to change, but they accepted this with grace and humor.
  Helen told me the first day we met that she meant for her sense of humor to be the last thing to go. And it was. Warren worked almost beyond human endurance to care for her, day after day, night after night, for long years. Such love is rare.
  The Hospice social workers, nurses, volunteers, health care aides, and dogs made the last great goal of Helen’s life possible. I will continue to work on behalf of this ideal, and to try and ease the mistreatment of the dying, who are often isolated, abandoned, driven to the edge of life, and given little control over their final days.
  My writing was affected by this experience, for what more could any writer ask than to be invited to share the story of Helen and Warren. My photography was shaped during this process. I acquired  new friendships,  a love of poetry, and learned much about the real meaning of love and life. I became closer to Steve McLean, a man of God and a great friend.
  Then, and by no means last, I was rocked to the core by the work my dogs did, especially Izzy, who labored  to lift this couple up at their time of greatest need, and did. He made a difference. He comforted both of them, at every turn.
  Lenore brought endless smiles and pleasure, but Izzy got in close and personal, day after day, under difficult and often unpleasant circumstances, and  offered them unwavering affection and loyalty,  and helped keep their spirits strong. I cannot begin to understand it, but am privileged to have witnessed it. 
  I honestly did not imagine, really, that a dog could have so great an impact on people at such a critical time in their lives, but I am a skeptic no more on that idea. If Izzy does not have our idea of a soul, the one he has is powerful and pure.
  For thousands of years, dogs have shown their glory in service to human beings, and I have felt this ancient connection strongly in Izzy. Today, he lay under Helen’s casket. At the cemetery, he lay by Warren’s side. Whenever Warren reached out a hand, Izzy was under it.
  So this is not the end, but a beginning. This has done as much for me as anyone. I am a better human being, wiser, humbled, awed.
   Warren and I sat this afternoon and, exhausted, wracked by shock and grief, he is beginning to think ahead, to “the rest of my life,” as he put it, “without the other half of it.” I will be there with him, insofar as he wishes me to. Another gift to me.
  The Hospice Journal goes on. The photos go on. The work with the dogs goes on. I am eager to hear new stories, and pass them along.
  Tomorrow, Izzy and Lenore and I head out into the country to see a new Hospice patient, a dog lover eager to hug a dog as she enters the realm of the dying.
 

Izzy by Warren’s side during the burial service.