AFTERWORD

BY ELLIS HENICAN

And that was where the book was supposed to end—with Luis and Tuesday gazing into the future, still fueled and inspired by each other’s commitment, preparing for fresh and important adventures ahead.

What happened next was not supposed to happen. Our hero, Luis, was not supposed to die. Certainly not this way, taking his own life, yet another terrible tragedy of the invisible wounds of war. This big-hearted warrior and his loyal canine companion had so much left to accomplish, so much more to share with you, his supporters, readers, and friends.

Luis had made huge progress since the days of Until Tuesday, when his post-traumatic stress disorder had left him a prisoner of his anxious mind. With Tuesday’s love and devotion, he’d literally turned his life around, becoming a man dedicated to helping others with PTSD; advocating on behalf of veterans, soldiers, and other people with disabilities; launching the multiyear, cross-country journey of healing that became the prime purpose of his life. For this highly decorated former army captain, that was an even greater achievement than his two tours in Iraq, his two Bronze Stars, and his Purple Heart.

And always at his side—paws forward, tail wagging, ready to go—was his not-so-secret weapon, the golden retriever Tuesday, spreading comfort, happiness, practical assistance, and unconditional love.

“People can’t help themselves,” Luis said as we sat together, writing the new book, Tuesday’s Promise. “Once they see the love in his eyes, they are changed forever. He brings out the best in everyone.”

As if to prove it, Tuesday looked up right then, flashing his thousand watts of canine charisma straight at me. All I could think was, “The next sentence we write had better sing!”

I have worked on books with many people of great achievement, top players in politics, sports, business, law enforcement, pop culture, and the military. But I’m not sure that any of them touched as many people or changed as many lives as Luis and Tuesday did. They were that irresistible!

Like other people who cared about Luis—friends, family members, readers, and fans—I was caught completely off guard by his death on December 2, 2016. Tuesday’s Promise was already in the publisher’s hands. The title was chosen. The editing was finished. The design was done. All that was left was for the presses to roll and the publicity campaign to begin. We know Luis was very much looking forward to traveling around with Tuesday to local libraries and neighborhood bookstores, inspiring adults and awestruck children, posing for pictures, sharing snout nuzzles and doggie hugs, signing (and paw-tographing) his brand-new book.

His death was news across America. The New York Times ran a full obituary: “Luis Carlos Montalván, Advocate for Soldiers With PTSD, Dies at 43.” The CBS Evening News broadcast a moving tribute: “Sad ending for Iraq War vet who shed light on PTSD.” U.S. Senator Al Franken, who had worked with Luis to pass the ground-breaking Service Dogs for Veterans Act, took to the Senate floor in a very moving tribute to honor the passing of his ally and friend.

“Luis,” the senator said with tears in his eyes, “I want you to know that while you are not with us anymore, I am proud of you. I am so proud that you were brave enough to serve your country for seventeen years and then brave enough to share the story of the hardship that you faced afterward. I am so proud of you for giving hope to our other veterans who face the struggles you did.”

Let me put your mind at ease about one thing. Tuesday is in the best possible hands, those of the woman who trained him, Lu Picard. “He will live out his days with our family, an ambassador for canines and all they are capable of,” says Lu. “I would do that for any of our dogs.” Tuesday is healthy, active, and engaged, impeccably behaved as always, though some who’ve seen him have detected a touch of sadness in his once-dancing eyes.

I believe I speak for many when I say we have lost a fellow traveler and a treasured friend. For more than a year, Luis and I worked closely together on what I now see was his last letter of love.

You now hold that love letter in your hands.

It is a love letter to Tuesday, the light of his life. It’s a love letter to veterans, soldiers, and others who struggle with disabilities, a message of hope and admiration for these noble souls. It’s even a love letter to the politicians, military officials, government bureaucrats, and others who sometimes stand in the way. We will fight you with the power of love, he wanted them to know.

This book is, just as importantly, a love letter to you—his friends, his readers, his allies, and all the other special people who have stood by him and Tuesday along the way.

You have his thanks, his admiration, and his plea and promise for the days that lie ahead: Please carry on. We will get there.

This was the book Luis wanted to write, the story he was eager for you to read. No one has changed a word.

With Luis’s death, some parts of Tuesday’s Promise take on added poignancy. This hits hardest in Chapter 22, “Older and Wiser,” where Luis reflects with his typical openness on Tuesday’s aging—and what that means for the two of them. A few lines are actually hard to read.

Here, Luis declares, “most likely I will outlive Tuesday.” That seemed obvious when the sentence was written, though events overtook it. One has that same feeling again eight pages later with the story of Rainbow Bridge.

“Do you know about Rainbow Bridge?” Luis asks. “According to a story that has brought great comfort to many when they need it most, that’s where our animals go after their time on earth ends.”

Luis continues: “The way it’s told, there is a multi-colored bridge ‘this side of Heaven’ and a green meadow beside it. ‘When a beloved pet dies, the pet goes to this place.’”

Whoever dies first—the human or the animal—waits for the other in this peaceful meadow. Once reunited, they pass together across Rainbow Bridge—healed, whole, and happy—and into eternity, loving companions until the end of time.

Tuesday will continue the mission that he and Luis were so dedicated to. Their many friends will provide whatever assistance and comfort Tuesday may need.

Whatever else may happen as this healing journey goes on, you and I know this much for sure: Luis is waiting in a meadow somewhere for his beloved Tuesday. And he’s not crossing any bridges alone.