Many of the words in this book have been written with a dying animal on my lap or at my side. Since I began writing this book, I’ve experienced dozens of losses. Since I began writing this chapter, I’ve had three new losses, three days in a row. Perhaps this Divine timing is further assisting me in covering the topic of grief and loss. Each loss has given me additional insight, and I’m still learning. Experience truly is the best teacher, as painful as it often is.
I recall that Jameth and I, before June entered our lives, had often commented on how silly it was that people took such elaborate measures when a loved one died. The expensive and extensive funeral ceremonies, coffins, flowers, and the like often seemed like “overkill” in honoring someone in spirit who was really no longer attached to physical form.
Then, when June died, our perspective changed instantly and dramatically. We doted over her body and took great measures to prepare for a ceremony in honor of our precious June. We even made a little stuffed “June doll” (made out of biodegradable natural fibers) to bury with her. We wrapped her body in a beautiful cloth and placed it in a box that we decorated extensively, customized just for her. We put little notes in the box with her body, telling her how special she was to us and how much we would always love her. And we prepared all of her favorite foods to bury with her. The very behavior that we had once considered “overkill” was now a very significant part of our healing process. Like never before, we truly understood the importance of ceremony.
We buried her body in the ground outside our bedroom window. Then we wrote her name (in nontoxic, biodegradable ink) on a large stone and placed it over her grave, along with beautiful flowers and more of her favorite foods. We stood over the grave and wept and told her how much we loved her. We smiled through our tears as we recalled the happy and funny memories from her lifetime, and we pondered how different life would be without her. Every step we took in that ceremony was a part of our own healing process. It was a way of saying good-bye, of paying tribute, of letting go, of working through our grief.
That set the pace for handling the loss of each animal that followed. Over time, more stones joined June’s in the little area behind a tree beneath our bedroom window. When we eventually moved to our own home, we brought the stones with us and placed them on the ground in what has become our own ever-expanding animal cemetery.
Not all of the ceremonies have been as elaborate as June’s. Over time, as we became more at peace with the necessary transition of death, we stopped putting the bodies in boxes and began wrapping them in a simple biodegradable cloth. Now we simply place their bodies directly in the earth, on a bed of fragrant flower petals or leaves. Each evolution of our personal burial ceremony has reflected an evolution in our personal acceptance of death. As the number of stones in the cemetery increases, so too does my understanding of the seasons of life.
Of course, I still feel that familiar sinking feeling—that feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, the lump in my throat, and the feeling of helplessness—whenever I see the signs of forthcoming death in my own companion animals. I now know they’ll still be around in spirit, but I also know I’ll miss their soft, warm, familiar physical presence.
And when they do pass, I still grieve deeply and cry intensely, and sometimes—when I find myself in the pit of despair—I wonder if I can continue to handle so much loss with the rescue work I do and the love of animals who have such painfully brief lifespans. Then I commune with my beloved animals who are still with me. I look into their eyes; stroke their soft, warm fur; and think to myself,
Of course I can
. The love they give is always worth the pain when they leave.
S
OMETIMES WE NEED A PERIOD OF GRIEVING
before
we can accept other animals into our lives; other times, it is other animals that
help
us through the grieving. This is a very individual thing. We know in our hearts when we’re ready to love again. When I lost June, I honestly didn’t think I could
ever
love another animal again. Then, when I finally
did
allow another animal into my heart, I felt guilty. I felt that I was betraying June. Of course, I wasn’t. Our loved ones on the Other Side truly want us to be happy. They want us to be able to love again. Now that I have a house full of animals, I find that the presence of the remaining animals helps me to get through the grief of each passing. Just their presence helps me to feel that much less alone and to find comfort.
I
FIND THAT CREATING A MEMORIAL
is often a very important part of the healing process for many people. A memorial can take the form of a grave, an urn or box filled with ashes, a spot in nature where the ashes are sprinkled, an altar, a poem, a photo album, a scrapbook or scrapbox—something meaningful, whatever it may be, to represent our loved one’s passing. This physical expression of their passage from the physical world into spirit can help us to integrate this transition into our own life experience. It can be one of the most helpful steps in the grieving process—especially in helping us to accept the reality of our loved one’s passing.
Perhaps equally helpful in dealing with grief over the loss of a loved one is committing to do good in their honor. So many wonderful organizations and causes in our world were initially sparked by those in grief who wanted to do something positive in honor of a departed loved one, especially if the loss was a particularly tragic one. I call that “creating a silver lining.” It’s like facing a gray cloud and looking for a silver lining—and if we can’t find one, we create one. For me, starting a Rat Rescue in June’s honor was a way of coping with her loss, honoring her memory, and turning a devastating loss into something wonderful. This has very positively affected both the rat kingdom and myself, and I am eternally grateful for this “silver lining.”
I encourage those who have lost a beloved animal to watch for signs and “coincidences.” Our departed loved ones often will make their presence known to us in one way or another, if we only pay close attention. The signs and messages may be subtle, so we could easily miss them if we don’t remain open to the possibility. It takes a while for us to adjust to our loved ones being in spirit. Of course, we’ll always remember them, and we miss being able to hold and hug them. However, in time, we will come to accept and understand the transition and develop a renewed sacred relationship with them. This relationship lasts forever. We love them and they love us very much, and this connection will never die. We can continue to talk to them just as we did when they were alive in physical form. Whatever we say to them, whatever we feel about them, they hear and they feel.
When I am contacted by those grieving the loss of a beloved animal, I suggest they pay close attention to their dreams. It’s helpful to write them down, as even the act of writing them down helps us to remember them more clearly. As discussed in an earlier chapter, “Sweet Dreams,” our departed loved ones often try to contact us in our dreams, as that’s when we’re most in touch with our spiritual (non- physical) side. Not all dreams are contacts from the spirit world, but those in spirit do tend to try to contact us while we are dreaming, as that is when we tend to be most receptive to such messages. If we pay close attention, we can learn to discern the difference between “just a dream” and an actual contact.
I feel that it’s a good idea to keep a journal to record not only our significant dreams, but also our feelings and experiences as we go through the grief process. Just the act of writing often helps us to get in touch with what we’re truly feeling. It often takes a long time to get through the grief, so it’s important to be patient and gentle with ourselves.
It is especially important that we take good care of ourselves during our time of grieving. Physical exercise is not only essential for our health, but it can also be extremely helpful in balancing our emotional state and overall well-being. Many studies have found that exercise can actually trigger happiness, tranquility, and euphoria. I agree. Going on a long walk in nature, working out with weights, or dancing along with an exercise video can do us a world of good. I find that a combination of vigorous physical exercise, yoga, and meditation is a helpful prescription for maintaining a healthy body and mind—and healing a wounded heart.
(Important: Always use common sense and proper safety precautions when embarking upon any exercise program, and make sure the exercise chosen is appropriate and approved.)
I
T IS NOT UNCOMMON FOR PEOPLE
to contemplate suicide during periods of intense grieving. Some feel that they simply can’t go on without their beloved companion, so they’d rather join them in spirit. This is
never
the answer. Life is sacred and must be treated as such. If a loved one has returned to spirit before us, there is a reason. If we have been left behind, we still need to be here. If a person is having trouble accepting this, I strongly encourage them to seek outside help
immediately
. This might even mean calling a close friend in the middle of the night. Any good friend would much prefer the inconvenience of being awakened from their sleep over living with the knowledge that their friend was afraid to ask for help.
It’s important for us to respect that our departed loved ones have their own path, which requires that they be in spirit at this time; whereas, our path requires that we remain in physical form. These two paths are different, but not separate … so the bond of love and special relationship will truly continue. They may even plan to return, so it is important to stick around and to be open to
anything
, but not to try to force anything. We love them, so we must respect their path and trust that they are still connected with us, regardless of form.
We must remember not to take it personally if an animal companion doesn’t come back; it has nothing to do with how much they love us. Sometimes they have important work to do on the Other Side. I remember how hurt I felt many years ago when Henry passed and I was told by an animal communicator that he was planning to remain in spirit.
Why doesn’t he want to return to me?
I thought to myself, taking it very personally at first. I later came to understand that he did, indeed, have important work to do in spirit, and I now realize that we are still very much connected. I was told that his job was to help other animals to find their way to me, and many special animals have, indeed, found their way into my life—and into my heart—since then.
I can’t emphasize enough that whether or not we feel we’ve made contact with our loved ones in spirit has nothing to do with how much they love us. Why do some people see fully physical manifestations of their departed loved ones and others see nothing? I can’t answer that question, but I suspect it’s like asking why some people have 20/20 vision and others are nearsighted or color blind. We all may be looking at the same exact thing but may perceive it very differently. The fact that we may not be able to see something doesn’t necessarily mean it isn’t there. Our world is made up of multiple individuals having multiple experiences, and no two are ever exactly alike. Even in identical everyday experiences, there are always varying perspectives of that experience, whether it be physical vantage point, interpretation, or some other factor.
Rather than asking, “Why not me?” regarding the amazing experiences of others, it is more appropriate to look at those experiences as validation that such things are indeed possible. I feel that the more open we become to such things, the more likely they are to manifest in our own lives.
Then it becomes our responsibility to acknowledge these experiences as real and not just try to explain them away or let someone else talk us out of them. And if they don’t manifest—or if we are simply unable to perceive them, which is more likely the case—it can be extremely helpful to work with a professional, such as a medium or an animal communicator. Many mediums and animal communicators regularly work with those who have lost beloved animals, and they are often extremely helpful in getting through the grieving process. Perhaps that’s why God created mediums and animal communicators!
O
NE DAY
I
WAS CONTACTED
by a man in England named Nick Pollard. His wife had recently lost her beloved horse, Ella, who had been her companion for nineteen years, and Nick was looking for some information to help his wife cope with the loss. He also shared something that had taken place at the time of Ella’s death.
“The night Ella was put to sleep,” he explained, “Tracey (my wife) and I were with her. Tracey experienced what can only be described as a life bonding experience with Ella in the final moments of her life. She described seeing her relationship with Ella from when Ella was young to the present day. It flashed past in an instant but she felt that both Ella and she experienced it. It was extremely moving.”
I instantly knew exactly what Nick was describing. I had experienced the same thing several years earlier when our beloved Cindy had died. Cindy was a rat with agouti coloring—that speckled brown fur coloring so often seen in wild animals. Her spirit was just as wild as her coloring. When I knew the end of her life was drawing near and there was no longer anything that could be done for her, I brought her to bed to spend one last night with Jameth and me. She could barely move, so we settled her gently between us and told her how much we loved her.
As Jameth drifted off to sleep, I stroked Cindy’s fur and admired her beauty in the moonlight that seemed to fill the bedroom that night. I didn’t want her to go, and I wished there was something I could do to make her stay, but I knew there wasn’t. Suddenly, I felt very peaceful and began to experience a mental review of Cindy’s life with us. It was incredibly detailed and seemed to last for a long time, although it was probably only a few minutes. Parts of it made me laugh, and I felt surrounded in love as I surrendered to the process. I closed my eyes and watched as her lifespan unfolded before me. I savored each moment as I reexperienced our time together. I felt that Cindy and I were completely connected telepathically and that she was simultaneously experiencing the same thing.