Beautiful Moments—Week 17 with Caroline Kim Oh

On divine agreements and the rainbow bridge

The Abdou’s dog, Samantha

Dear Friends,

Last fall, we began every morning with the same ritual. Jennifer texted Jenna: How is Sam?

Sam was the Abdou’s family dog. She was 15 and ½ when she entered palliative care in September.

Two months later, on the day that we received today’s beautiful moment, by our friend, leadership coach Caroline Kim Oh, Sam fell ill. The timing was eerily surreal. At the exact moment that Jenna was reading about Caroline’s dog’s final days, she was watching Sam enter hers.

Similar to Caroline’s family, the Abdous had devoted themselves to making the fall the “season of Samantha.” Mornings on the balcony? Essential. Handfuls of treats twice a day? Of course. Three daily stroller rides? At least, better yet four!

Still, as our friend Raja recently wrote, landing Sam’s farewell is a gift that flowed both ways.

Sam inspired a pause, a perspective shift, a reconnection. For four months, Jenna’s family oriented their lives around Sam, pausing whatever they were doing to be fully present in the little moments, to make them matter.

The “season of Samantha” was the most time Jenna’s family has spent together since childhood. In many ways, it felt like childhood. By tuning into Sam’s rhythm, ordinary moments became portals to play. Collective cheering when she jumped over the step to walk outside. Amusement as she selected from a variety of treats, as a reward to come back inside. Surrendering to the mischief in her eyes, as she stared at you, then at the garage, then back at you, until you stopped what you were doing to take a (fourth) walk.

In that pause, Sam illuminated the countless invitations woven into each day to connect with each other. Invitations just waiting for us to say “yes.”

A few hours after we read Caroline’s story, Sam had a stroke, lost mobility in her backside, and entered hospice. Over the next week, the Abdous sat vigil. Every signal indicated that it was time.

Still, on day six, Sam suddenly began healing.

Within two weeks, she’d taught herself to walk again, including up (tiny) hills.

Sam had several brushes with death (Jennifer still believes Sam lived nine lives). Still, her spirit was enlivened by connection. Even on her hardest days, she’d lovingly gaze up at you from her stroller, before scurrying up to walk on her favorite street.

At less than half of her body weight, with two organs failing, no one could explain Sam’s unshakable will to keep living.

Until, one afternoon, Jenna’s friend finally captured it: Sam wasn’t just staying to love, but to be loved.

With love (from the rainbow bridge),

J&J

Caroline’s daughter and their family dog, Moby

Perfect in Every Way

Last summer, my son and I brought our dog in for an annual checkup. Our ten-year-old pup was slowing down, but he was perfectly healthy, as far as we were concerned. The vet suggested some x-rays.

The vet returned shortly, with eyes full of sympathy.

“I’m so sorry, but Moby has cancer. It’s advanced and spread all over.”

My son and I held hands, tears streaming down our cheeks.

“Now it’s time to just love and spoil him,” she said.

Moby died just 18 days later, in my daughter’s arms.

Moby came to us as a puppy from the Humane Society. We got him because my daughter, who was only in second grade, fell suddenly ill. We thought she might even die. I promised her that we would grant her lifelong dream of having a dog when she got better and returned home from the hospital. My funny girl looked up meekly and asked, “Can I also have a kitten and a bird?” “No, just a dog,” I said. Nice try.

On the day he died, we had just made the difficult decision to take him to the vet to say goodbye, but Moby had other plans. When he began to die, my daughter and I ran to him, held him, and there, in my daughter’s arms, he took his last breath. Here’s where the story turns kind of funny, and also beautiful.

When we called the vet to come get Moby, the woman said that they can do everything but pickups. She asked me to please bring him in. They would take care of the rest. But, I didn’t know how to bring a deceased body anywhere.

My sixteen-year-old took charge of the situation. She sat down next to him, took a warm water-soaked washcloth, and cleaned him with so much love and care. When did my sickly baby girl get so strong? She was a sight to behold.

She went outside and picked flowers from our messy front yard. “Moby loved this bush best,” she said. She put three sprigs of purple flowers into his paws.

The drive to the vet was just five minutes. We wiped our eyes, and said out loud how crazy and weird this situation was. I told her about an old movie called Little Miss Sunshine. If you’ve seen it, you know why. She said she wondered if there were other drivers right now in our kind of situation. I shuddered and laughed too. I love my girl so much.

At the vet, a lady with a clipboard and a tall, polite man met us in the parking lot. The tall gentleman said, “I’m very sorry for your loss” and picked up Moby. We saw his cute paws and purple flowers sticking out into the sky.

My girl and I drove to the closest diner, where we shared pancakes and coffee. We held hands and talked about all the funny things he used to do, how much we loved him, and how he loved us, always.

Moby shared his last hours with my daughter and me, and let me get a glimpse of the beautiful young person she is becoming. Moby was our dog, and he was perfect in every way.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

— Caroline Kim Oh

This week, recall a moment of connection that elevated you during a difficult time. What made it beautiful?