Gus’s death was significant for me in many ways, not just the obvious. I think it was the first time I shared the loss of a dog with others, and shared grief with other people.

Gus was a charismatic dog, people loved him, and I recognized that he was not just my dog, but because of my writing and his character, he belonged to many other people. I have always seen grief as an intensely personal experience, and I have never shared it on Facebook or other social media.

I think the first step of grief is to absorb it internally and come to terms with the loss. I’ve never felt the need to go into much detail about the death of my dogs.

Gus’s loss hit me hard, he was young and until the last few weeks, full of life.  I don’t really wish to experience it in tandem with others, I am eager to move forward with my life. But this time,  a number of people wrote me to ask how they might honor Gus.Tthis was a first for me, but it seemed right,  and I decided to open up to the idea.

I had already invited people who knew Gus to come and say goodbye, or brought him to people like Bob at the dump, who loved him. Robin Gibbons, the breeder came by with her son Brian to say goodbye.

I had written more openly about my feelings for Gus than I had done with other dogs, and I made a gradual, if not really conscious,  decision to open up. I think I now feel strong enough and comfortable enough to do that.

I suggested that in lieu of flowers, please send donations for the refugee and the Mansion residents. I loved this idea, which hit me out of the blue.

In a sense, this would prolong Gus’s life, and he could continue lifting people up in a different way – by helping them.

In my mind, I thought each donation would heal me  a bit,  I felt good about each one. And I would feel good again each time I helped someone.

I emphasized that small donations were very welcome. There are people ashamed to send $5 and $10 donations, I know, but those touch me very deeply and mean a great deal to me.

People responded, more than I expected.

I got 40 or 50 letters the first day, from all over the country. Some were messages, some had small denomination bills, some had checks, ranging from $25 to $500. They bought boat rides on Lake George for the Mansion residents and the money to put a down payment on a week-long camp for the RISSE soccer players.

They bought two digital cameras for gifted young refugee photographers.

I spent $125 on the RISSE Amazon Wish List.

The thing is, these messages had a marked effect on my healing.  I love that Gus is doing good after his death, and I saw each donation in his honor as a bright star peeling back the darkness. I had just come through a bout with pneumonia when Gus died, and I was tired and run down.

The donations in honor of Gus lifted me up, everything is a gift in its own way.

I wondered at the love this spirited little dog provoked in people. Sitting here writing, I’m too close to it, I can’t gain any perspective on it.

“Gus was very special,” wrote Lana. “I so enjoyed following along with your posts – I hope you will get another Boston – thinking  you fell in love with the breed just like we did. In memory of Gus – do what you want with the donation – a long time follower of your blog, Lana.”

Thanks Lana, Gus was very special and I am certainly going to get another dog.

So more lessons of grieving. I’m not about to mark the anniversary of Gus’s death on Facebook or Twitter, but I am seeing that here, as in the rest of my life, opening up is healthy and healing. Gus will live on a good while, and the love people had for him can be turned to the small acts of great kindness we are trying to commit.

If you would like to honor Gus by giving a donation to the refugee or Mansion work, you can write me at Jon Katz, Post Office Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816 or via Paypal, [email protected].