Be Happy, Even Though I am Gone

Grieve not, nor speak of me with tears, but laugh and talk of me as if I were beside you... I loved you so... twas heaven here with you.

—Isla Paschal Richardson

There's an online site that I love written by a British lady called Pea Horsley.  She's an "animal communicator" and sends me quarterly newsletters about her workshops, with animals, all over England.  I'd love to go to one.  Her website is: http://www.animalthoughts.com/  Well worth a look!

Here's what she wrote about death and dying:

Saying goodbye to animals who we've shared our time with, animals who are part of our family, part of our heart; is one of the hardest things we have to do. It can feel like a part of ourselves is being ripped out. Many people find losing an animal who they love much harder than losing a member of their own family. Why is this? Because animals give unconditional love. They don't care about the state of our hair or the state of our bank balance. They only care that we spend loving time with them. Fun time. Gentle time. Quiet time. Animals are the keys to the soul; they are capable of removing layers of pain and surrounding us in blankets of comfort. Animals keep us going. They keep our hearts open.


Pea goes on to say that our pets will "let us know" when it is time to go and how they wish to go---at home or assisted (euthanized.)  I tried to let Suzy go at home.  Prayed she would, in fact.  But, she just hung in there as did I.  We both didn't want to say goodbye!  I waited as long as I could before she stopped eating and drinking.  There was nothing else I could do.

When I took her to the vet's he said to me, "your hands are tied" meaning, there was nothing else I could do for Suzy.  My heart fell.  I crouched down on the floor and held and kissed Suzy rapturously.  I knew that would be our final goodbye.  She knew, too. 

Pea says our pets will communicate with us when it's time to go.  Suzy did, and I knew, then and there, that it was time.  She stared at me as I backed out of the room.  I couldn't bear to stay when the moment of passing happened.  I felt she understood and gave me silent permission to leave.  But her eyes locked with mine as I slowly stepped back and out of the exam door.  A moment I shall, sadly, never forget.

Sight Unseen - Feelings Felt

“There is a road from the eye to heart that does not go through the intellect.”

G.K. Chesterton

I love this quote, because it sums up how animals relate all the time.  It teaches us how to better relate to them and others IF we will listen.  True, they don't speak the same language or even speak at all.  Yet, they are paragons of wisdom, temples of truth.
 
Suzy and I broke bread together, walked in the woods, enjoyed a roaring fire & never spoke in shoulds.  We were free to be, she and me. For 14 wonderful years. Day in and day out, we never had a cross word between us.  Never fought.  Never looked at each other cross-eyed or mad.  For, we shared the most precious gift of all.
 
I need not say or spell it out here and now. For the magic of this emotion is the richest one of all. We knew it.  We felt it. We shared it. We smelled it.  We had it.  We appreciated it. We lived it.  We were better for and from it.  She to me.  Me to her.  It was within this halo that we grew. 
 
 
 

I Am With You - Always

Mystic and philosopher, Kabir, wrote:

Are you looking for me?
  I am in the next seat.
My shoulder against yours.

And so it goes with me and Suzy. 
Although not here, she is ever near.

Grief Be Not Still

Shakespeare said:
"Give sorrow words, the grief
that does not speak whispers the
o'erfraught heart, and bids it break."

Amen.  I can relate. Writing helps soothe my soul and comfort my constant thoughts about Suzy.  After all, memories are friends and, when I think of all the great times we shared, I cannot help but smile.  She brought more light to my world than a thousand sunbeams in a million prisms.

I recently finished reading a wonderful book about loss and grief.  It's called, In Lieu of Flowers, A Conversation for the Living. In her introduction author, Nancy Cobb, writes about the nature of grief and how it has a life of its own when she says:

"After experiencing the death of someone you love, you jon a rank-and-file whose number multiplies hourly.  Soon you learn, as others have before you, that perspective shifts erratically.  Weeks pass slowly.  You wonder why the world goes on as if nothing has happened.  You wonder if that bone-deep physical ache in the center of your chest will ever go away, or if you'll ever finish a paragraph, laugh with abandon, or look at family photographs without falling apart." (P. xv)

I daresay it's the same for a beloved pet.  The author goes on to say it's not easy no matter if the death was sudden of if you've, ". . .had plenty of time to say goodbye, you'll still wonder if you've got it right.  Regret is grief's handmaiden.  Learning to focus on the life, rather than the death requires an enormous emotional effort. You distract easily. You teeter constantly.  Car accidents and falls down stairs often occur during periods of mourning.  Because you have been cracked open by your experience, imbalance is often a result."  (P. xvi)

I know, for me, it's been that way for the better part of the year.  First, with seeing Suzy wither then be unable to walk, stand, eat or drink and, then, finally die.  It was grueling and gut-wrenching.  I've made some bad decisions this year, real doozies, that have affected my future and livelihood.  Knocked the rear-view mirror off my car, pulled up some pretty plants in my yard I mistook for weeds, flaired up at a friend, felt raw, irritable, scared, shocked and overwhelmed for the past six weeks of Suzy's life as I watched her tumble and fall, stagger and succumb to the grim reaper at the end.  Part of my end, too.

And so it is that I write.  For my heart overflows with sadness, my brain with weariness, my being with  grief.  Only words will guide me toward the light.  Only sharing my story will bring me back to life.

Sensitivities

Suzy was a very sensitive Sheltie.  The breed tends to be quick, smart and very sensitive.

     So it was with Suzy. And, me.

There's a trait called "Highly Sensitive Person" and a book of the same title by psychologist, Elaine Aron.  When I heard about it, several years ago, I immediately read her book, took the self-test, then knew I was an HSP.  So was Suzy.  Maybe that's one reason we bonded so tightly. 

As an HSP, we dislike noise, commotion, chaos, flourescent lights, loud voices, or too much stimulation of any kind.  Suzy could be the calmest dog in the world, but let there be a knock on the door, kids shrieking by on their bicycles or nearly any transiton, inside or outside the house, and she'd fly into a turmoil, barking, spinning, lunging, and sending herself into a puppy tizzy!

I'm the same way.  Well, perhaps not as intense, but, generally speaking, like Suzy, I prefer the calm, predictable, reliable, & soothing environments over the chaotic ones.  I prefer babbling brooks, azure skies, hills, meadows, animals and nature to anything artifical.  The term "Right Livelihood" is really the only livelihood for me.  

Non HSP's can batton down the hatches and plow through work they don't like, stores that pipe in loud music, and a myriad of other irritating sights, sounds or smells.  Not so with HSP's.  I know.  From first-hand experience.  And, so did Suzy.

Together, we calmed and soothed each other's sensitive spirits.  We were each other's balm and elixirs.
We contributed to the other's quality of life.  Indeed, to our basic survivals & comfort levels.  We were not only there for each other but added to the other's longevity and mental health. We provided the love, affection, gentleness and caring that Mothers do for their children and, how Buddhist philosopher and writer, Thich Nhat Hanh, says everyone should treat each other.  I agree.  And, OH, what a wonderful world it would be!