Yesterday, Jack, our dog, was put to sleep in our home. We scheduled the appointment about ten days ago, so we were able to do some mental and emotional preparation, but there was no avoiding the sorrow that we woke with on Tuesday. I did some sweeping and straightening up, opened the curtains, lit the bayberry candles, and took a few red carnations from our Thanksgiving flower arrangement for the mantle. I chose a purple etched bud vase that I had not used in a long time. I have two, a purple one, and a blue one that belonged to my mother. I cannot remember where she got them, but she treasured them. Tyler and I have had several conversations about our parents during this time of waiting. I have realized once more that if we let it, grief can bring us to deeper relationships because it reconnects us at a deep level. I paused at the mantle, which is my altar. I bowed my head and thanked the Source of All for letting us borrow Jack, and that I knew it was time to return him.
Dr. E. arrived on time, and explained the two step procedure. She was soft spoken and gentle. No movement was wasted; no superfluous words were spoken. With gratitude, I sensed both her compassion and her training. Jack surprised me by his willingness to jump on the couch in the presence of someone he did not know (even in his last days, he could be enticed by the promise of a few Charlee Bears). We quickly settled into our usual spots. His head was by my side, and my hand stroked his wooly head as it had done every day. Yes, Tyler and I both shed tears.
I keep a string of small white lights on the mantle, and these were lit. As I waited, I reflected on how beautiful the autumn light was that morning, and I was grateful that I had opened the curtains. Then, as Jack's physical body came to final stillness, the light around the mantle became brighter, and the light that came through the windows became even more golden as it filtered through the yellow autumn leaves outside. In that moment I knew only unity. I knew without a doubt that every creature on earth is connected. We are not a zillion separate souls, we are one soul. Whether we are a mushroom or royalty does not matter. All of life is divine because we are all of God. Yes, physical death is a part of having a mortal body, but none of us really die. We simply change and move on.
Thank you, Jack, for bringing this knowledge and this love home.
Next time what I'd do is look at
the earth before saying anything. I'd stop
just before going into a house
and be an emperor for a minute
and listen better to the wind
or to the air being still.
When anyone talked to me, whether
blame or praise or just passing time,
I'd watch the face, how the mouth
has to work, and see any strain, any
sign of what lifted the voice.
And for all, I'd know more—the earth
bracing itself and soaring, the air
finding every leaf and feather over
forest and water, and for every person
the body glowing inside the clothes
like a light.
image: I took this photograph yesterday after Dr. E. and Jack left. The brightness of the room had diminished some. Perhaps because at least some of it moved into our hearts. The painting is a water color that a friend of mine painted from a photograph I took on a hike with Tyler and Jack at Lake Del Valle in 2020. Jack loved to hike, so weather permitting, we will return there on Saturday. I thank my friend for her generous gift that allowed me to remember that day and that light with gratitude.
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