Luna

Sometime in 2014 I met Luna and her parents. Luna would roll onto the ground and smile at me. All three were soft spoken. All three emanated sweetness. In the following years, they would see me on the coast monitoring birds and stop to talk to me. Luna would lick me. She had the biggest smile. Other times, on their walks through the community, if I was working in the yard, Luna would drag her parents down the street to say, “hi.” I was equally as fond of her. 

Luna’s father wore shorts, exposing his time-worn, sun-weathered legs. Luna’s mom wore her silver-white short hair with friendliness. Her face was kind. As time progressed, Luna and her father continued to recognize me immediately. Slowly, Luna’s mother did not. 

I would see them on the beach and Luna’s mom would introduce me to Luna, even though Luna and I knew each other very well. As time went on, she introduced me to Luna multiple times throughout the same conversation. At first, I reminded her that I knew Luna. At first, I didn’t know. Then I suspected. Once her husband confirmed that she suffered from Alzheimer’s, I no longer tried to bring back her memory. Upon each introduction, I met Luna as if it were the first time. 

In 2019, Luna’s mom began waiting in the car while Luna and her dad walked on the beach. Luna’s mom felt safer locked in the car than being on the unfamiliar, familiar beach. In the months that followed, I began looking for Luna’s van at the beach or in the community to make sure that their family of three was still in-tact. On rare occasions, I would run into all three on the beach. Luna and I would smile at each other. 

Sometime in June of 2021 I spotted the blue van driving through Pebble Beach. I hadn’t seen it in a long while.  I had often wondered, out loud, how Luna’s mom had fared through the COVID-19 pandemic. On this day, Luna’s father was driving alone. There was no one in the passenger seat. I worried.  

A week or so later, we took our dogs to “coyote beach” to throw the ball. They were eating too much kelp, so we made our way back to the car. As we walked to the trash, I saw Luna and her dad headed our way. I hadn’t seen them in such a long time. There were two of them, not three. I excused myself from my own family and made my way to greet my friends. It took Luna and her father a minute to recognize me. Suddenly I was being licked by Luna like a long-lost friend. I returned the sentiment. Then I asked how Luna’s mother was doing. In my heart, I already knew. Luna’s father pointed to the heavens. He shared that it happened three months prior. I expressed my sincere condolences and he assured me that it was okay. He told me that he felt her last breath. He hadn’t walked in a year, because she couldn’t. He was her sole caretaker. He preserved her dignity and gave her a loving place to die. 

I am moved by his commitment and his selfless act of love. He assured me that it was the right thing to do, far better than the alternative of placing her in a facility. He also shared with me that even when you have time to prepare for a loved one’s death, you have no idea what it is like until you go through it. We bid our goodbyes. We returned to our car. Luna and her father continued their walk. They stopped at a bench to sit and look out at the ocean. Luna maintained eye contact with me the entire time. She smiled, even as we drove away.