Cody, The Golden Boy, A Perfect Companion

The other day I walked into my parents' house, and for the first time in 13 years, I was not greeted by a playful bark, a wagging tail, and a joyful mass of golden fur pressing against my legs. That’s when it really hit me. Cody is gone.

Cody was my parents’ dog, a Golden Retriever/Chow Chow mix, and he was beautiful. Long, soft golden hair, with curls around the ears, and a purple spotted tongue usually hanging out of his smiling mouth. He was exactly the type of dog you imagine when you want to get a dog. Loyal, loving, playful, chill, obedient, handsome, sweet, friendly, fluffy. A perfect companion.  

He was the first dog my parents got after I moved out, so I never lived with him, but he always made their house feel like it was still home. Soon after they got him, it was like he had always been a part of our family. He would get so excited when I visited, rushing to the door and positioning himself between my legs so I would rub his head and butt at the same time.

Last year, he was diagnosed with cancer. I was sure he was going to die, because it was 2020 and nothing good could possibly happen. I was preparing for the heartbreak, but I was really more concerned about my parents, especially my Dad. With the pandemic, my mom in a wheelchair and suffering from Parkinson’s, and a cold winter setting in, this was the last thing he needed. It was too cruel. But my dad didn’t give up, and neither did Cody. He underwent treatment for the cancer, and although it wasn’t easy—he lost some weight, he coughed stuff up—he made it.

It took a lot out of him, though, and he was almost 14 years old. His hind legs had been bothering him for a while, and by mid-May, they had completely given out. He couldn’t walk. He deserved comfort and peace. It was time to let him go. So my Dad, merciful as always, brought him to the vet and let him transition.

My family always had great dogs. Ramses, a Golden Retriever, died a couple years after I was born. All I remember is that he was a good boy. Tuffy, another Golden, was there for my entire childhood and helped shape who I am almost as much as my parents did. He was anything but “tuff”, by the way. A sweet, fluffy boy. A real good dog. We got Dakota soon after we moved to West Hartford, when I was living at home, going to high school, and my brother was away at college. I was in a new town, in a new school, by myself. And I was a teenager. It was a time of great change, and Dakota helped me through it. He was a giant white horse of a pooch who would chase deer all over the golf course. A handsome, independently minded, but needy and loving pooch. Another good boy. He was too much for his previous owners’ to handle, but perfect for us. 

While we had Dakota, my parents raised a Fidelco guide dog for a year. Rachel was a good dog. It was an interesting experience because we had to (try to) maintain an emotional distance since she wasn’t staying long. That didn’t stop us from loving her. When she was done with training, she provided her services to an elderly woman with bad sight. After many years, Rachel retired, and she actually came back to live with my parents. Sadly, she passed away soon after. That entire experience taught me a lot about the process of fostering and doing something for the greater good. And it really made me admire my parents. Not many people are willing to sacrifice their time and efforts for others. Although, they did get all the benefits of a kind, loving dog for a year, so they made out pretty well, too.

Dakota and Rachel, before she started working.

Cody and Rachel, after her retirement, with Sophie, my brother's dog. She was a good girl, too.

Then there was Cody. The sweetest dog. He did more in his life than most people. Literally. My dad brought him to nursing homes to volunteer as a comfort dog. And of course, he worked as an unofficial comfort pet at home, helping to get my parents through some tough years. He was a constant presence, always by my Dad’s side.

Even on vacation in Florida.

At the beginning of this year, as the fear of Cody dying from cancer started to subside, we were blindsided by the sudden sickness and death of our kitty, Nola. It was devastating. She was only 11 months old, but the impact she made on our lives was immeasurable. Not having any other pets to comfort us only made it worse. Thankfully, Cody was there whenever I visited my parents, or when they visited us. It was almost as if he stayed around to get my parents though the winter and to help me through Nola’s death. Even in the short moments I saw him, he brought such great comfort.

We also took some comfort in remembering the two encounters between Cody and Nola. He was the one dog she ever met, and no surprise, Cody was great with her. He let her get close and sniff, and he didn’t even mind when she stalked the floor by my mom, looking for scraps of food. Nola had never met any other animals, and very few people, but she met Cody, the best the world had to offer. 

One of my favorite pics. Their first meeting, during our Christmas celebration at our new house. 

It’s hard to believe that Cody and Nola are both gone. I don’t believe in an afterlife so I won't say, “they’re playing together in Heaven now,” or something like that. I have nothing against people who say or believe that. I wish I could believe it! It’s just not how I view the world, or how I envision death. But Cody and Nola will always be connected in my memories, and even though it is heartbreaking that they are only memories now, I’m happy they are together in my mind and in my heart. 

Cody also met our new kitties, Zoli and Bijoux. I'd like to think there was some kind of transference of energy from Nola to Cody to them. Like, she met him, then he met them, and there was a connection established through Cody, as if he was a conduit of life that let her spirit continue on in them. I'd like to think that. That's my vision of the afterlife.

Cody also met our dragon, Puff! And guess what? He was great with him, and the kitties, too. Because Cody was great with everybody, and everything. Old people, kids, other animals. He was just a real good boy.

Miss you buddy.

What a beautiful boy. 

I Love You All...Class Dismissed. 

F Cancer, Shoutout to Boosie. And Bowie.

The prospect of immortality looms heavily over us all. Some of us live in fear of it, others embrace it. However we ultimately feel about it, death is necessary to appreciate life. That's something we usually say to comfort the bereaved, but cliches become cliches for a reason: there's a lot of truth in them. Death is not distinct from life, it is the logical next step on life's journey. It is the continuation of a cycle. 

Dealing with illness and death is usually a private affair, but social media has made it so every death becomes a contest to see who can mourn harder. This becomes obnoxious, but people need to grieve in their own way, and if that helps, by all means. Even when it comes to celebrities. Some people get upset when fans dare to mourn a celebrity they never actually met, but I think mourning a celebrity's death is natural. Certain artists or athletes or entertainers may have made an impact on your life, even if it's simply making a song or an album or a movie you enjoyed. When an artist dies, fans feel a loss, and that feeling is real.

So when the outpouring of support came after David Bowie's death, I wasn't surprised or bothered. I'm not the biggest Bowie fan, I like some songs and movies he's made (Labyrinth is an all time classic) but more than anything I always appreciated his art and him as an artist. 

Like everyone else, I listened to a lot of his most popular songs when the news broke that he succumbed to cancer. Eventually I came across the video for Lazarus, one of the last songs and videos he made. 

I was floored.

Bowie's eccentricities are well known. He's out there, and this video is no different. But holy shit, this song and video are powerful. It's literally a man on his death bed, contemplating his life and eventual transcendence to another plane of existence.

It's heartbreaking yet hopeful. This is a man who knows he is going to die and wants to do it on his own terms. As an artist, he wants to share that experience. He has taken his fans on all types of journeys throughout his career and he has allowed them to tag along on this, the final journey.

The melancholia is almost overwhelming. The horns pull your heart out of your chest, his voice (still strong but with a touch of frailty) and lyrics throw your still beating heart against a wall.

Look up here man I'm in danger. 
I've got nothing left to lose. 
...

This way or no way, 
you know I'll be free, 
just like that bluebird, 
now ain't that just like me, 
oh I'll be free...

It's an artist's goodbye, yet now that he is dead, it feels like a message from beyond the grave. The video is haunting: a beautifully strange depiction of a dying man floating above his bed; he spins in the air and falls back down; a ghost(?) lady underneath the bed reaches for him; his sickly body spasms while he writes something, possibly the lyrics to this song; and finally, he disappears into a giant armoire. It's spooky and weird and a perfect ending to an incredible career. This was a man who battled cancer for over a year and then fully embraced death, at peace with the full life he lived.

Boosie Badazz aka Lil Boosie, is an artist who has not embraced his mortality. He is not ready to die, and in a recent song, simply titled, "Cancer," he details his recent battle with kidney cancer, expressing the sadness and outright fear he feels.

Boosie has been a hero in Baton Rouge for over a decade. He was recently released from jail on a drug charge (after being found not guilty on a murder charge that would have sent him to death row) and within a year or so, he was diagnosed with kidney cancer. Life has a cruel sense of humor.

Much like Lazarus, the video features the artist on a bed with white sheets. Both videos feature representations of the supernatural: Lazarus has the ghost lady, Cancer prominently features a bible. Unlike Lazarus, there are no metaphors here. No mask, no floating, no bluebird; just Boosie in the hospital, with his family and his somehow still fresh Boosie fade.

The lyrics are as straight forward as the title. Boosie is known for keeping it real, a term that has become a mostly meaningless phrase in rap, yet there's no better way to describe his style. Blunt, direct and honest raps about his own reality. His fear and anger and sadness are all on the surface, as tangible as the giant gold Jesus piece he wears over his hospital scrubs.

The opening lines tell you everything you need to know about the song and about how Boosie approaches his art:

Coldest words I ever heard was

"Torrence Hatch, I'm sorry. You got cancer."

Just beat death, turned into "now I got cancer?"

His greatest asset is his voice, with which he is able to emote raw passion better than most rappers or actors. The slow, minimal beat allows his piercing, pain-filled voice to take center stage, and the hurt behind his words is intensified by that high pitched, nasally delivery.

Throughout the song, he examines how the cancer diagnosis has affected his psyche and his family. He talks about his three aunts that died from cancer. He calls cancer "this pussy ass disease." He asks how long he'll live once his kidney is removed. The chorus is simply asking God for answers. Listening to the song feels exactly like watching a close friend or family member dealing with a cancer diagnosis. 

Two great artists, dealing with death and cancer through their music in very different ways. Bowie knows he will die and wants to assure us (and maybe himself) that it's all right to let go; Boosie is unsure and fearful of his fate, but he wants us to know he won't give up yet.

And this is how Young Thug shows his support.

Their different approaches to death are emblematic of their different approaches to their music. Bowie makes art outside of his personal self. He becomes a character in his music and it's hard to know the real Bowie. It is all facade, all spectacle. This feels like one of his most personal songs, yet it still doesn't really examine personal emotions. The song is full of metaphor so we can apply it to him but also to life and death in general.

On the other hand, Boosie is an open book. He puts himself and his life into every verse. In Cancer, we hear and feel every single emotion Boosie is experiencing. It is very personal, and like only great artists can do, he somehow makes his personal experience universal. We are all connected to the human experience; when someone can so openly and vividly express their own experience, it draws us in.

These two songs are very somber obviously, but there is an underlying hopefulness. Boosie is not willing to let go of his life yet, and Bowie is aware his life is coming to an end and he accepts it. The openness, the frailty mixed with the strength, lets us see these legendary artists as humans who suffer just like the rest of us. We all face death one day, and watching these men do it so gracefully is inspirational. Sometimes we need to fight it, and at some point, we need to let go.

That's life. It's beautiful. So it goes. Etc.

Peace and love.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.  

Reflections of a Vaguebooker

I was guilty of vaguebooking the other day. In my defense, I wasn't looking for pity or attention. I swear it was an honest mistake.

On Facebook, I posted "Fuuuuuck Cancer" randomly with no context. In hindsight, I can see how this could be misconstrued, but when I posted it, I really didn't think of all the ways it could be interpreted. In general, it was an expression of frustration at the pervasiveness of cancer. Specifically, it was a reaction to hearing that a good friend's father was diagnosed with cancer at a relatively young age. It was also a declaration of determination. He will beat it.

Maybe with a paddle?

After posting it, I had dinner and went to see Creed so I forgot all about it. A few minutes into the movie (before Rocky is *SPOILER ALERT* diagnosed with the same cancer as my friend's dad...there is literally no escaping it) my phone's text message notification goes off. I put it on vibrate and checked the text. A good friend asked if everything is ok. I had no idea what he was talking about. Then I see another text almost simultaneously. Again, "are you ok?" The second message continued: "I just saw your post."

Oh shit. I checked Facebook and 5 people had already commented, some to express their agreement and their own experiences with it (these were the types of responses I had anticipated) others asking if I was okay and telling me to keep my head up.

I immediately felt horrible. People thought my family or I was sick. And in a way, it is my family, but I'm not affected so much by it that I need sympathy or even concern. I'm not going to act like I'm directly impacted by it more than I really am. I just feel real bad for my friend.

So it was not my intention at all to get pity, but it was really moving seeing people's reactions. The comments. The texts. That was all truly unexpected and heartwarming. It reminded me that some friends, no matter how often you see or talk to them, will always be there for you. And it showed me that some friends that you really only communicate with via social media can be just as supportive and caring and important as any other friend.

I have ridiculed vaguebooking before, and after doing it and seeing the reaction, I'm even more against it. Most people are really caring, and if they see a post that vaguely alludes to sickness or something troublesome, they will worry. If something is really wrong, it's best just to talk to someone. Even sharing it on social media is fine (and you will clearly get support, as my post just proved) but just tell us what it is, don't make vague references to it. That's a cheap way to get sympathy or start a conversation.

But damn if it doesn't work. At least I know if I ever do get cancer people will like my status.

Thanks?

In all honesty, the comments, and even the likes, feel good. They are ultimately the least you can do to support somebody, but so what? I hope that when the situation arises, I will check on my friends as they did for me. Even people I had just gotten into heated debates with liked the post and checked on me. It's always important to remember the humanity in everybody, even those you vehemently disagree with. And its always good to let your friends and family know how you feel about them every now and then, before the inevitable news of their eventual cancer diagnosis.

Sorry, I meant to end on an uplifting note. Here's Aunt Bethany singing the National Anthem. Hey, she didn't die of cancer!

It was alzheimer's. Sorry again.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.