Animals and the Afterlife (7 page)

A
S
I
NOW RECALLED THOSE INCIDENTS FROM MY YOUTH
—and many more like them—it all made sense.
Of course telepathic communication is real,
I thought to myself.
Of course distance and language are irrelevant with telepathy.
I had determined this long ago, but I had simply forgotten. I now realized that telepathy is truly a universal language, one that breaks the boundaries not only of “logic” and distance, but of species.

I looked back on all of the conversations I’d recently had with June via animal communicators. These conversations were often about simple, mundane things, yet it was in their simplicity that I found validity.

O
NE DAY
, I
RECEIVED A PHONE CALL
. A friend of a friend had gotten an adorable baby rat for her grandson, but it turned out that the little boy was allergic to fur. So “Susie the rat” needed a home—could we take her? I was delighted at the prospect of having another rat come to live with us, and in my mind I had already moved her in.

However, I had learned the importance of consulting
every
family member when a matter concerned them, and that included our beloved June. So I told the friend that I’d have to consult June first, and I scheduled a string of appointments with various animal communicators.

“No, she does
not
want a rat companion,” said the first one. “She’s pretty clear on that.” I was surprised. And so I tried another, and another.

“I don’t need a rat companion,” said June.
“You’re
my best companions.” Over and over again, June made it very clear that this was
her
home,
we
were her companions, and she loved her life just the way it was. She was a rat ambassador and was here to interact with
humans
—
not
other rats.

However, I was worried about little Susie, who needed a home; and I told myself that perhaps June didn’t
think
she wanted a rat companion, but if she just
met
Susie she’d change her mind. So I arranged for Susie to come over and meet June.

At first, I was struck by Susie’s appearance. She looked just like a smaller, younger version of June. Then I was struck by the difference between them. Though Susie was a very sweet little rat, I didn’t feel the instant connection I had felt upon first meeting June. I somehow knew in my heart that she wasn’t going to work out.

I brought June out to meet Susie. June’s reaction said it all. She had a shocked, betrayed look on her face and immediately ran to a far corner of the room. She kept her back to me and didn’t respond to me at all, which wasn’t like her. She was
not
trembling in fear of this new rat; rather, she was displaying the same behavior I had seen before when she was upset about something, such as when I had dismantled her nest. I felt terrible about this and told Susie’s temporary caretaker that we couldn’t keep her. (She found a great home with another couple; they adored Susie and let her sleep with them at night. I was relieved.)

I apologized profusely to June, and things quickly returned to normal. However, the next day, she was very lethargic and didn’t want to get out of bed. I felt guilty, thinking she was still upset about the Susie incident. I looked her in the eye and asked her what was wrong. Instantly, I heard her response.

“I hurt,” she said, and I immediately understood what she meant: She was in pain—physical pain. She didn’t say it verbally, of course, but I definitely “heard” the words telepathically, in what clearly sounded to me like it must have been “June’s voice.” I was quite startled at this unexpected communication.

Then I began to question myself. I called an animal communicator to find out what was
really
wrong with June, still convinced that she was upset with me, and that she was depressed rather than in pain. I told the animal communicator nothing of my experience, now having dismissed the whole thing.

“She’s in pain,” said the animal communicator, confirming what June had already clearly told me. I got more details about why she was suddenly in pain—she had hurt herself—so I prepared some natural remedies and June quickly recovered.

I
T HAD TAKEN ME A LONG TIME
to accept the validity of telepathic animal communication. Over time, I had become quite certain of the reality. However, the idea of
me
being able to do it was another matter entirely. It was one of those things that
other
people could do, but not
me
.

I got past the denial and ultimately felt overwhelmingly grateful for having received my first clear communication from June without the assistance of a professional animal communicator. It wasn’t until later that day that it fully sank in.

My God,
I thought to myself,
I really am communicating with her
. I stared at June in half disbelief. Until this point, it had been somewhat of a game—a sort of “that would be great if we really could talk with the animals, so for fun, I’ll entertain the idea that we can.” I had truly wanted to believe, but the skeptic in me somehow couldn’t accept it completely. Now I was convinced. This wasn’t science fiction; I was a rational human being, and this was reality.

-
C
HAPTER
4
-

The Next Step

Animals share with us the privilege of having a soul.

—P
YTHAGORAS

A
LTHOUGH
J
AMETH AND
I had been together for years, we’d never had an actual wedding. We’d had neither the time nor the money for a big wedding when we first met; so we had gone out to the woods and privately exchanged rings and vows, and that was that.

We’d been planning to have an actual ceremony—in the company of family and friends—ever since, but we were always waiting for enough time and financial resources to do so. Now we realized that conditions might
never
be perfect, and we
did
live in an ideal location for an outdoor wedding, so we made our plans.

Sharon Callahan, who became one of June’s primary animal communicators, told me about a forthcoming event she was co-organizing: the First Annual Conference on Animals and Spirituality, which was being held at the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary (a huge animal refuge, where over 1,500 animals live “happily ever after”) in Kanab, Utah.

I was extremely interested, so Sharon sent me a flyer on the event. Jameth and I determined that we could think of no better place to spend our honeymoon, so we registered for the conference and were given permission to let June join us in the cottage in which we would be staying at the sanctuary, called “The Rock House.”

June helped us maintain our balance as we struggled through all of the ups and downs of planning a wedding, including catering it ourselves (which, in hindsight, I wouldn’t recommend).

As we prepared for the big day, June met family and friends. Those who had heard of her or had seen photos of her were delighted to finally meet the famous “June the rat” in person. Everything went beautifully, and at the end of the day, Jameth, June, and I posed for some final wedding photos.

Among our wedding gifts was a pair of little white stuffed animals (harp seals), and I brought them out to meet June while she was enjoying a meal in her dining corner of the kitchen floor. The little harp seals were about the same size as June, and I made one of them crawl across the floor toward her to say “hello.” June turned and stared at the stuffed animal with a horrified look on her face. She looked upset and betrayed.

Suddenly I realized what was going on—she was
jealous
of the small creature that had joined our family. (What human hasn’t felt similar emotions?) I
felt
her reminding me that we had agreed this would remain a family of three. I quickly showed her that it wasn’t a
real
animal, and she was visibly relieved.

After the wedding, we packed the car, and Jameth, June, and I headed for Utah. The conference at Best Friends Animal Sanctuary made for a wonderful honeymoon and a much-needed getaway in a beautiful nature setting (in fact, it was our first actual vacation together ever), and we realized we were there because of June. After all, it was June’s animal communicator, Sharon Callahan, who had told us about the event. While there, June got to meet Sharon in person for the first time. It was a joy to watch their in-person interaction.

At the conference, many of the attendees told touching stories about their beloved animal companions. I enjoyed sharing some of my own stories about June among kindred spirits, and I felt as though I really
belonged
there. I’ll always cherish my memories from that sacred event.

During our honeymoon, I realized that June had slept a lot recently and just didn’t get around like she used to. I feared that she might be preparing to leave us. The one question I’d always avoided asking June (her age) now haunted me.

June’s walk hadn’t been right for a while. I had half-noticed it but had been so busy with wedding plans that it hadn’t completely registered. She no longer climbed our pant legs as she used to. She was clearly getting old.

The night after we returned from our honeymoon, I noticed that June had a peculiar hop as she headed to bed with us. The next morning, I discovered her unable to walk at all. Her hind legs no longer worked, and she looked so helpless as she tried to drag herself with her arms. June was crippled. I cried like a child. It was so painful to watch my little angel suffer.

June and I embarked upon a long and desperate journey. I let go of all of my other responsibilities and stayed with her around the clock. Wheelchairs don’t exist for rats, so I held her in my arms and carried her everywhere. She pointed her head and indicated where she wanted to go. As I carried her around, our telepathic connection grew stronger than ever. She now relied upon me to feed her and to put her in her litter box when needed.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “You can just go to the bathroom on me; I don’t care.” But without fail, she always looked up at me and asked me to set her down in her litter box first.

“We can fix this,” I assured her as I frantically called animal communicators, vets, chiropractors, and healers. June patiently put up with poking and prodding, x-rays, and a wide assortment of exams by traditional as well as alternative practitioners. We tried Network chiropractic, herbs, homeopathics, TTouch, Reiki, hands-on healing, and various other healing modalities that are highly beneficial for humans and animals alike.

No one was able to diagnosis any specific health condition, other than old age. (I’ve since learned that hind-leg paralysis is not uncommon in elderly rats.) No matter what I tried, June continued weakening and losing weight. I knew I was losing her, but I just couldn’t let her go. I tried to imagine life without her.

“I don’t want another rat,” I told her softly. “I want
you
, June. Please stay.” She did her best to honor my request as I continued searching for someone who could help her. While some healers flat-out
refused
to help her because she was a rat, others rose to the occasion and expressed genuine concern. The experience taught me a lot about the many faces of human nature.

“Are you sure you want to go to so much trouble?” one healer asked me over the phone. “After all, it’s just a
rat
.” After a long dissertation from me about how June was a very special soul who happened to inhabit a rat body, the healer was, by his own admission, deeply moved. He then called everyone he could think of who might be able to help.

I had developed an incredibly strong bond with June and had learned to count on going happily to sleep each night with Jameth on one side and June on the other. I feared the end of her life was approaching much too soon. I fought it, all but kicking and screaming, all the way.

Letting go was not an option. She
couldn’t
die—I loved her too much. Besides, I was a “health expert” and could surely find
something
to fix her. I suppose a part of me thought that she could be the world’s first immortal animal, so I continued my heartbreaking struggle to keep her alive.

A week passed. June was no longer able to clean herself, so I bathed her with a warm washcloth at the bathroom sink. I brought her to bed and set her next to me, as I did every night. Her fur was still damp from the bath, so I decided to get her an extra little blanket to keep her warm. I found a soft piece of fabric covered with pink hearts, which made a perfect blanket for her. I settled her in and stroked her softly, telling her how very much I loved her, as we drifted off to sleep.

When I awakened an hour or so later, June was very still. When I picked her up to go to her litter box, as I always did when I awakened during the night, I knew it was over. As I stood up, my legs weakened and I collapsed to the floor. I held June’s vacant body and shed larger tears than I had ever known. I felt as if a part of me had died. The pain that had gnawed at the pit of my stomach since that first morning, when I had discovered she couldn’t walk, had never left, and it now overtook me.

Jameth awakened, and he held me for hours as I cried and clutched June’s lifeless form. You can never really be prepared for moments like this. Like life itself, you have to actually
experience
such moments to fully comprehend their depth.

As I stroked her soft fur, now soaked in my tears, I
demanded
some answers. I no longer needed to understand what death was, or what the dying process was like. Now I needed to know
why
. Why had she died? What had I done wrong? Of course, I
must
have done something wrong, I told myself, or she wouldn’t have died. Death was no longer something I accepted. It was now something I resented.

Early the next morning, I left a desperate message for animal communicator Sharon Callahan. My voice was so choked with sobs that Jameth took the phone and completed the message for me. Sharon had written articles about losing a beloved animal, and I knew I needed help. A little while later, she returned my call and shared a beautiful message she had received from June. She told me that June had been escorted toward the Light by a small dog and a bunny with floppy ears, surrounded by lots of angels. She said June kept looking back, knowing how much I was hurting.

“She told me about something pink that you put around her body,” Sharon said. I looked over at the little blanket, covered with pink hearts, which now surrounded June’s body.

June’s death hit me harder than anything before it. The house felt so empty without her. Nighttime was the hardest; I missed the feel of her warm fur against my skin. We buried her body in the yard, right outside our bedroom window.

Flowers and sympathy cards arrived with words of praise for the beautiful soul known as June, describing how she had touched many lives, and how much she’d be missed. I knew I’d never forget June, and neither would anyone else who knew her. To this day, people ask about her, reminisce about her, and miss her.

For a long time, Jameth and I caught ourselves constantly checking to make sure the toilet lid was closed and automatically doing other things we had done when June lived with us. Little reminders of her brought smiles and tears.

I had always considered myself “a strong, level-headed person,” providing words of wisdom and a shoulder for
others
to cry on, but rarely letting my
own
emotions loose. Now the pressure of overwhelming emotions had reached its limit, and I needed an outlet. So, in trying to cope with June’s death, I attended a group breathwork session (a form of assisted emotional release facilitated through breathing exercises), in which I could share my pain with a supportive group of people and shed my tears in a safe, nurturing environment.

When it was my turn to share, I told the group about the loss of my precious little companion. A lot of them had, at some point in their lives, loved and lost a dog or cat or other animal, so no one questioned the intensity of my pain.

During this healing process, I visualized sending June to the Light and letting her go, which was a very powerful and therapeutic experience. I had brought photos of June and found great comfort in showing the adorable photos to anyone who asked. Cass, a friend of ours who—along with his wife, Shama—had founded the center where the event took place, hugged me warmly.

“I can only imagine how you must feel,” he said. “I don’t know
what
I’d do if our dog died.” He called the next day and announced that, as a belated wedding gift, he and Shama would like to gift Jameth and me with free attendance at a forthcoming two-weekend emotional-release workshop. It was just what I needed. Jameth was unable to attend due to previous business obligations, so I went by myself.

Opening up emotionally, and allowing myself to be vulnerable in front of anyone, was always painfully difficult for me. Throughout my life, I had swallowed many tears and worn many smiles that hid internal pain. So, my attendance at that workshop was one of the most powerful healing experiences of my life. Finally, it was okay to cry, even though I was all grown up. But equally powerful was the direction in which my life headed as a result of that workshop.

I experienced two life-changing weekends, surrounded by people who understood, releasing the pain of my loss and so much more. June had brought me there, and what a gift it was. Laughing and crying, sharing, really feeling my feelings—the way June had. The most significant part of the event came quite unexpectedly….

During a break, one of the other workshop attendees approached me.

“They come back to us, you know,” she assured me. She then told me the story of her beloved cat, who had died and then returned to her in a new body. I wondered if it could be true. During my lifelong exploration of the afterlife, I had heard many quite compelling stories of reincarnation. However, these stories had always involved
humans
. I had never considered the possibility of
animal
reincarnation. I had always felt in my heart that animals have souls just as humans do, but I’d never really found any concrete answers. Something clicked inside of me in that moment.