The smell of fresh-cut grass filled her flared nostrils as she dashed down Alta Vista Lane on a warm summer afternoon. Freed from the nylon tether of an afternoon walk, it was time to run! And run she did, for two blocks, with reckless abandon and not a care in the world.
Julia was my parents’ adopted rescue pup from the Dallas SPCA, and her name was inspired by actor Julia Roberts, whose character in the movie Runaway Bride had a penchant for dramatic escapes. Julia became a bit of a neighborhood cause célèbre during those early days at Mom and Pop’s house because of her frequent mentions in the local community blog.
The jailhouse breaks were common. This was a freedom Julia had never known. She was able to run free, gallop carelessly on the flowers of the neighbors, leave a fetid trail of unappreciated gifts and, at least for a moment, luxuriate in the joy of life and in living it to the fullest.
Before she had been adopted by her forever family, Julia had seen her fair share of hardship. We never knew precisely how old she was or the trauma she had endured, but you could always tell that her gentle, yet mournfully sad, golden gray eyes had a story to tell.
She had certainly experienced the uglier side of what humans can do to their dogs.
Julia held her head low when large, lurking males were near her, and she always cowered at the sound of loud voices or thunderous lighting. When making eye contact with her, she would peer into your soul and tell you her story of a pain she had left behind.
But through her gentle demeanor, kind countenance and ladylike repose, she let us know she had overcome her life’s earlier tribulation. She loved her new family with the condition-free love that only a dog can give. Likewise, my folks showered her daily with love and doting affection.
Julia loved love. That is not a unique characteristic among dogs. The difference for Julia, however, is that it was that love that literally sustained her and enabled her to live her life without the emotional impact of an abusive past.
Julia had been sick for a while. The doctor found a mass in her chest, and we knew her time with us was drawing to a close. She walked slowly with a stilted gait and no longer sought to escape from her humans. Julia’s last days included staring into my mother’s eyes and letting my mom know how much she loved her and that she understood that my mom loved her, unconditionally.
We said goodbye to Julia on a recent October morning. The family gathered around to comfort and love her as she took that last dash over the Rainbow Bridge. We placed our hands on her, prayed, and just like when she was a pup, she made her escape to her final reward.
We cried. A lot.
My folks and I don’t always agree on politics these days; and like families across the country, there have been moments when our family has been divided over politics, candidates and the coming presidential election. Like so many others who have a similar situation in their own families or among friends, there have been heated discussions at the dinner table, and sometimes, things were said that we wished we could take back. Most troubling, however, was how sometimes we allowed this divide to keep us from speaking to one another for a few days or even weeks.
This morning, however, when we came together as a family to pay our last respects to Julia, the one member of the family who loved each of us unconditionally, we all realized that some things are more important than politics or our cultural disagreements.
Julia knew what humans are capable of if they do not have love in their hearts. But she also knew from her post-adoptive life that love was restorative. In her world, all of the ugliness and division was washed away with the love of her forever family. That is a lesson Julia taught my family that we will never forget.
On the way home from my folks’ house after we said goodbye to Julia, the song “Let It Be” by the Beatles came on the radio.
This line stuck with me: “For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see, there will be an answer, let it be.”
Julia’s death reminds us that in the end, it is what brings us together that matters. Not what divides us.
As for us humans, maybe, just maybe, we can let it be.
Jason Villalba is the CEO of the Texas Hispanic Policy Foundation and a former member of the Texas House.
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