Tribute to Sully
Reflections from the Heart
Sept. 22, 2022
Dear Dear Sully,
We’ve never spent a night apart in all these years … Tonight will be our first. Such a dark place this space is - I’m not even sure what my life looks like without you.
5 months ago you lost the ability to use your back legs. First one. Then a few days later, the other. It was so abrupt and horrifying. Only just a few weeks earlier in the desert before departing on a jet plan to Alaska we did a 10 mile hiking/geology tour. And later that day, jumping over my motorcycle, catching a tennis ball in your mouth using those same back legs as wings, suspended in the air, your beauty in flight.
I scrambled frantically. Denali work just started. Certifications, training, teaching going on while we bought off road wheelchairs, exploring various harnesses, diapers. My greatest fear was to see your confidence falter and not do the things that made you feel whole. - You smile - Lick my face with, “We got this” and “It’s okay pal.”
Onward we went. Your upper body and front legs as strong as ever. I hung on the rear harness keeping your back legs above the ground and like a 70 lb suitcase with 2 hot rod legs, off we went. Fast. I surrendered to you and let you lead and explore wherever your nose and desire would take you. Most often it seemed to lead us thru the dense spruce forest under the lowest branches, breaking 3 pairs of prescription glasses. But even more it would be the rivers and lakes. With the warmest chest waders I could find, you took me out in the middle of the open waters of lakes and rushing glacial rivers. I had always marveled in your joy watching from the shore. But now, together, attached, you showed me the magic of the rivers and lakes by moving in it with you. Living in it - with you.
And so our Alaska summer moved on. You and I would sip on a few hours of sleep each night as I became hyperaware of wanting to shift, rol1, reposition you… change bedding… anything to make you comfortable.
Meanwhile, we chased down every vet, specialist, test and treatment in the state. In return we received each time a different result, conflicting opinions and more referrals and medications. Paddling in the dark with no direction.
“It must be hard on you,” a friend would say watching me help “express” your bowels. I never looked at it that way. Loving you was never hard. I always found my strength knowing I had no limits with love for you. – And your grace Sully… Your grace was the glue that held me together. You moved thru all of this with your Sully heart. That Sully “wake up every morning with the thought something wonderful is about to happen.” Your deep connection to the wisdom of an old soul.
Your life has been framed by snow capped mountains, glacial rivers, shifting sand, and twisted rock. And like the sandhill cranes we would watch pour over the Arctic sky every September, we too traveled extensively between two worlds and lives.
You were a gifted… and I mean gifted therapy worker. Visiting 1000s of hospital beds creating overwhelming light for others. You were my business partner in the desert, guiding people from all over the world, and without even cracking open a geology book, you hoarded all the attention, the obsequious flattery and all the tips. You inspired so many. You inspired me.
I just thought we’d have more time. You know? Just didn’t think it would be now. Me and you. Geezer or not. Me with my pockets clicking with a bottle of ibuprofen on bad knees, you on rimadyl.. but always pushing back time one last time with fresh eyes out in the middle of nowhere, running, hobbling, climbing, swimming, cackling as we went.
“How did he die?” my phone lights up and asks. (Sigh.) I believe the question should always be, “How did he live?”
Your life reflected your heart.
You left your last day as you began all the others. Staring down the HERE and living in the NOW. You knew no boundaries in this lesson as it seems to require endless repetition.
And today… tears streaming down my face, but yet so eternally grateful to be here with you now, swimming together. A boy and his dog, in a California mountain lake to ourselves. Water pouring over your body, sunrise light glowing on your face, ball in your mouth and joy – that magnetic force you carried into the world – joy in your heart.
Will miss you Sully. My beautiful beautiful boy. All my love, Aaron
Sully - A Loving Tribute. He loved life. And it loved him right back. (9 min. video)
Book signing
Ode to Sully. By Dale Ebben.
The leap