A couple approached me while I was out hiking Mt. Tom to ask if I’d look out for a missing
dog named Bongo, whose owner hoped he might show up on our trail. This got me thinking of the
times I’ve looked for my own missing pets. Our cat Georgie, for instance, often slipped away for days
at a time. And invariably he returned home unscathed but for a few scars on his ear, or a matted coat of
fur. Once our poodle, Mia, headed off the trail and was gone for hours until magically re-appearing
unscathed and happy. But of course, sometimes our furry friends are never seen again, and we grieve.
Latter that day, I ran into Bongo’s person who handed me a flyer she’d fashioned with his
photo in hopes that I’d go back out with her to help her find her dog. Seeing her sad eyes, I flashed on a
long-ago memory of an evening when I was starting to drift off to sleep, and my first wife, who had
died six months earlier, whispered in my right ear, “look harder.” So I dutifully wrote down her cryptic
message on a scrap of paper and pinned it on a wall in my office alongside the altar that I’d created for
her. Look harder was her message to me. Listen deeply, more than you’ve ever looked or listened
before. You can do it. There’s more going on here than meets the eye.
I often hear from the dead. Since my dad’s funeral over fifty years ago he’s been leaving
me encouraging messages when I really need them. For instance, one time he woke me out of a sound
sleep by shouting out my name on the night before I would be leaving for NYC to audition for an off-
off-Broadway production of Two Gentlemen of Verona. I got the part. A couple of years ago, while I
was going through a box of treasures that my Mom left behind, I came upon a hand-written letter from
my then fifty year old dad to my Mom – a love letter written during a week-long separation expressing
his love and his longing to see, touch and hold his wife. His letter revealed a side of him I never knew.
But now when I look harder at the letter, I find myself peering through a small window into my parent’s
private, loving, passionate marriage. And by looking harder still, I realize that finding that letter was no
accident. It came to me just a few days after I married my second wife, Teresa. And I’m convinced that
my parents conspired to celebrate my new found love by offering me a glimpse into the love they kept
alive for 25 years until Dad’s passing. And although Mom never stopped living and loving after Dad’s
death, she always kept their flame of love alive.
Of course I hope Bongo finally returned home. But if he never found his way back, I know his
person will always love him. The love we have for our pets and our parents, our partners and our
children is never-ending. And if we look and listen harder and more deeply for subtle and not so subtle
messages, maybe we’ll discover that love really is everlasting.
