What Remains After We’re Gone—Death, Dogs and Living with Impact
In a week filled with loss, I was reminded that love given — not time lived — is what endures
Man, what a week!
A lot of death, a lot of pain, a lot of love, a lot of gratitude.
On Tuesday night, I travelled to my hometown to support my best mate as he said goodbye to his little brother.
Accompanied by my Mum, we headed to the funeral on Wednesday.
The small local church was very familiar to my family—between 2017 and 2019, we attended it three times to say goodbye to my Pop, my Aunty Colleen and my Uncle Timmy.
Now I was back to farewell someone much younger, with so much life left to live.
My best mate, Eamon, gave such a beautiful and strong eulogy.
I cried, not only for the sudden and tragic loss of this beautiful soul’s life, but for the courage on display from Eamon, despite the pain he was feeling.
This was the second of his brothers that he was saying goodbye to in only 6 months.
I could not imagine that heartbreak.
Seeing my friend stand tall and hold himself together in that moment is something that I will never forget. I was so proud of him.
After the funeral, I spent one quality hour with my Nen (last remaining grandparent), brother and parents over a coffee before heading back to Sydney to board a flight to Melbourne.
On Thursday, I went into the office, tired and emotionally pretty low.
It was a grind, but I got through.
I headed into the office again on Friday, fairly well rested and ready to get stuck into my work, when I received a call from my brother James.
Our family dog, Lochy, had multiple seizures, and his body was giving up.
Lochy had been living for the last few years with my brother Luke and his partner Alex in Melbourne. Along with James, and with his condition clearly deteriorating, they had decided to euthanise him.
I immediately left work to meet them so we could say goodbye.
When I got there, it was pretty evident that the old boy was on the way out. He was a lifeless blob in my brother’s arms, no tail wagging, no kisses, just a quiet acceptance of what was to come.
We laid him down on the table, gathered around him, and surrounded him with love.
The vet walked in, injected a few vials of fluid into his leg, and within seconds, his heart stopped beating, and his journey on this plain was complete.
We were inconsolable.
I have never cried that much in my life.
The pain of watching the life disappear from something that brought you and your family so much joy and love was unbearable.
We had a beer for Locho and reminisced on all the good times—sharing photos, videos and stories of what a trooper (and a total weirdo) he was. Basking in the good times and honouring the role he played in protecting our family for 14 years.
Ok, enough about me.
Why do I share these stories?
Well, because this week I was very poignantly reminded of something…
Impact!
A few years ago, I heard about something called The Funeral Test—here’s a quick breakdown for those unfamiliar:
The "funeral test" is a powerful, proactive visualisation exercise used to define what a fulfilling life means to you, often associated with Stephen Covey’s "Begin with the End in Mind" habit. It involves imagining your own funeral and considering what you want family, friends, colleagues, and community members to say about your character, contributions, and achievements.
I learned about the idea in an online course that I had bought from Tai Lopez, and it talked about this concept in relation to legendary apartheid activist Nelson Mandela, who literally gave his entire life for his beliefs and the fight for equality.
In the course, you were challenged to think about your funeral.
How many people showed up?
What did they say?
What impression did you leave?
What impact did you have?
The reason Mandela was used to illustrate this idea is that he was beloved by everyone he came into contact with. His state funeral in 2013 brought his home nation of South Africa to a standstill and received 4500 attendees.
The test urges you to consider what you are presently contributing to this world, and what impact you hope to make.
Every decision…
Every interaction…
Every person we help…
Every life that we touch…
Every single moment will play a role in determining what sort of impact we are having on this Earth after our physical journey is completed.
What impact do you want to make? What legacy do you want to leave?
Whether you like it or not, you are choosing exactly what that will look like through the life that you lead and the energy you impart. So choose wisely.
Kieran was 32 years young when his life suddenly ended.
His funeral was a beautiful spectacle of the impact and joy he brought to the world, bringing together a church full of family and friends wishing to say goodbye—in fact, there was not enough room to seat everyone, with many having to stand at the entrance or watch from outside.
He was a kind soul. Always bright and energetic. Adventurous and full of life.
He cared deeply about humanity and the human experience; his gentle and reserved nature had made an impact on so many in such a short space of time.
Lochlan Savelberg was 15 years old when his fat little vessel decided it had enough.
This angel of a dog found his way into our lives when he was rescued from a shelter by my parents at only one year old.
After adopting my baby sister only a year earlier, and with me and my brothers already being in our late teens/early twenties, my parents wanted to provide a playmate—someone she could wrestle with and giggle with.
A friend who didn’t have any responsibilities and would always be there.
Lochlan was that.
I remember vividly, a two-year-old baby girl and a one-year-old pup wrestling around on the floor in a ball of barking, giggling and love.
He would go on to play a huge role in all of our lives.
Locho would witness everything our family experienced across 3 states and dozens of homes; he saw it all:
Friends come and go
Relationships start and end
Grieving loved ones
Surviving pandemics
Battling addiction
Recovering from injury
Dealing with stress
I know that this is a dog’s duty, but Locho had an awkward energy that felt divine; his love for my family was tangible—our little guardian angel. He knew that his job was to provide comfort and companionship to my family, and throughout all of life’s highs and lows, he did his job exceptionally well.
His impact will never, ever, be forgotten.
Rest in paradise, K-Dawg and little fat man, I love you both; you’re not in pain anymore.
With gratitude,
SAV
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