You Can't Cheat Death

Maia's ashes.

When death visits, her touch is swift, unquestionable, unyielding and unavoidable. Even if there's a process to go through before we take our final breaths, there is no escaping the power of death's ultimate touch. One touch - however gentle, however harsh - and death happens...

The body goes cold and lifeless when its soul leaves. Stephen Levine describes death as "the shaking loose of the body." It's the mysterious soul that animates the body, gives it life and vibrancy. Without the soul, the body is as an empty vase from which all the flowers have been plucked and the water poured out.

But it's not necessarily death itself that is unsettling or even disturbing. It's all the fallout that comes after death. And I'm clear that aside from my emotional state of grief around losing my beloved companion Maia, my mind is the instigator of any suffering over it that I'm experiencing.

I hit the wall of anger yesterday. After feeling fairly numb for two weeks, yesterday I got mad. I awoke from an early morning dream about Maia. She'd been resurrected from death by a dear friend who brought her to me with joy in his heart. Maia came trotting over to me, bright-eyed and tail-wagging.

I was stunned! I squatted down to hug and love on her, happy to feel her touch again yet deeply aware that something was wrong: This is wrong; she's not supposed to be here. I'll have to go through all of this again; I don't want to go through this again! There was an interesting mix of emotions at her return: I was so happy to see her yet so confused by it too; it wasn't meant to be and some part of me knew that.

In the dream, it was moments before Maia coughed a couple of times (just as she'd done in this reality), took her few last breaths and died...again. You can't cheat death.

Now I have to do this all over again! The thought of restarting my grief was annoying and made me mad. The anger I felt was not at my dear friend for resurrecting my beloved dog; it was at myself for all the things I felt guilty for in relation to my dog: for forgetting to salt her food that morning; for thinking I should wait a few hours to give her a treat with salt on it instead of giving it to her immediately; for banning her from my home office space as I worked all day; for the way she laid herself against the outside of my office door, waiting sweetly, silently, patiently for me to come out; for not doing more research on her condition and how we were handling it; for not letting her eat whatever she wanted; for being gone with busyness so much of the time and leaving her behind at home... These things tear at my heart now.

And I know I cannot change them. To suffer over them is pointless, really, in the biggest sense of things. And yet I suffer; I'm not yet able to hold all of my human experiences within the biggest container possible. I'm allowing myself that; it's part of my growing and grieving process - the untangling of all my human emotions around our relationship and her death: Could I have done more? Should I have done more? Why didn't I (fill in the blank)? I wish I hadn't (fill in the blank)... 

If I could rewind our time together, what would I do differently? I ask myself this question over and over again, and yet the answer is always the same: Nothing. It wouldn't matter; you can't cheat death.

If I could bring my beloved back, would I? I ask myself this question, too, and the answer is always the same: No, I wouldn't; you can't cheat death.

At some point in our relationships, we say goodbye. This is inevitable. Death touches all things ultimately. Bringing back the dead doesn't change death; it just delays it. You can't cheat death. Death happens how and when it happens because it does. We can't change it, avoid it or control it. We can't even really completely understand it but we don't have to. All we need to know is that death happens.

And as we hold this reality close in our hearts, life deepens into something more precious than anything else. Love takes the lead. We open... and in our opening, death becomes our ally rather than our enemy. How? How is death our ally? Death (of something) is the only way to clear space for what's next. Without death, our lives and our Beings would be bursting open with old stuff that is no longer serving us to the fullest. And that's what I believe we all grow toward: our fullest be-ing. This is the greatest expression of the divine moving through us that we can offer: our fullest be-ing, which to me means living from a deep sense of love...

Death brings the ultimate transformation. Ultimately, it is the gateway to return to pure essence. Not every single death we experience (death of people, pets, ideas, dreams, thoughts, etc.) offers a return to our pure essence; I believe this is reserved for our physical death. But every death offers us the opportunity to take a tiny step toward connecting even more deeply with our pure essence... the vibration of Love.

We can fear death, hate death or love death but ultimately, we have death. Can I embrace even death with love in my heart? I'm still learning that yes I can, but I must honor my humanity and allow myself to grieve the letting go of my beloveds, too. It's a fine balance between being Human and being an expression of the Divine. By honoring my very human feelings - my grief - I clear the way for love to re-enter my wounded heart and refill it with light. The other option is to close, which doesn't appeal to me. In opening, I step even closer to what I believe is all of our divine essence - that of pure love.

So I grieve, and heal, and grow, and open in the face of death, which is ultimately all about love...

Sacred Spaciousness

It's been a week since my sweet dog Maia died. I'm doing my best to carry on in her absence. There is a noticeable void in my world without her, an emptiness that can't be filled with just anything. The spaciousness that her death created feels sacred to me, like a holding tank of all the love and memories we shared. I don't want to fill it with anything else right now; I just want to feel the beauty of it.

I'm aware that her sudden death was just another one of her loving gifts to me. It's as if she said "It's time for me to go. It is not my intent or my purpose to burden you with slowly declining health, incontinence or neediness. It was my job to support you through some rough times, help you heal your heart and get you to the place where you could shine again. I've done that; my job with you is complete. And so I can go now so that you can go now too. My presence in your life was not about draining your energy; it was about helping you shine. So shine on..."

I sometimes wonder about some of the things she heard me talking about: "We can get her some doggy diapers and I can just take them off when she goes outside. It'll just mean that I won't sleep as much and she'll take more of my time and energy. I'll check on what other things we can do to deal with it. I'll feed her the vegetarian food she likes and give her the more expensive meat in between meals for a snack so it won't cost as much. She loves that meat! I'll make time to walk her every day. No, I don't want another dog; I love Maia but she has pushed me to my limits; I'm full-up..."

Sometimes I feel bad about these things. Did she take them to heart? Did she knowingly and lovingly spare me all the added stress by dying so suddenly? Was she ready to go or was she serving me yet again through even her death? I wonder...

I may never know for certain, yet I do feel that her death was a necessary part of what's next in my life. It's as if I couldn't take my next step forward and deal with her in the ways I wanted to. It would have created too much stress for us both. Wherever my life path is taking me, she couldn't go with me; that much feels clear.

I miss her every day and every night. I know the missing will soften, yet it's with me strongly now. I hear her noises all the time; I feel her presence. I mistakenly believe - just for a second - that she'll be in all her usual spots at the house as I move about it. I yearn for the touch of her soft fur and cold nose, and the way she pawed at me for attention. Oh what I'd give to feel that paw brushing against my leg now!

I miss looking into her eyes. It sounds like a lover, I know, but it's true! Her eyes were incredibly expressive with a depth and a sweetness to them that held sensitivity, compassion and raging love. They were forgiving, accepting, willing and allowing... What an incredible teacher she was; everything I strive to be as a person in this world was held and reflected in her eyes. She was a gift and a teacher. And I am truly blessed to have held such a gift and known such a teacher.

I've realized that she is the first death to me that was such an intimate part of my life. My grief around her death is more profound than it has been for other beloveds in my life who have died. But I've learned that my reaction to death has little to do with how long I've known someone or even how much I've loved them; it has to do with the nature of my relationship to them. The nature of my relationship to my dog Maia was deep, honest and unconditional. She was a big part of my daily life, and held a large part of my attention and energy. The void left in her absence is unmistakable. She is the first death I've experienced of this nature. I guess I can consider myself fortunate for that...

As I make my way through my grief at her death, I find myself feeling quiet, emotional, vulnerable and maybe even a bit empty outside of my typical busyness. I enjoy what I do but I enjoy the quiet of night even more now than before, so I can sit in the spaciousness of her love and memories, and honor the amazing beauty of the gift and the teacher she was to me, the extent of which are just barely beginning to sink in...

May my life become a more clear reflection of all the beauty she brought into it.

The Sacredness of Each Breath

I had more than a year to love; I had almost 10. I knew one day I would say "Goodbye" to my sweet companion; I just didn't know it would be today. But then, we often don't have the privilege of knowing when we're having our last moments with our loved ones.

My dog Maia died suddenly about an hour and a half ago. I heard her coughing on her bed, went immediately to her side and knew she was dying. Helplessness. I could do nothing but talk to her and hold her in love while she took her last breaths.

I wonder when she knew she was dying? I wonder if she knew I was there, and if she wondered why I didn't make it better like I usually can. I wonder if she slipped easily and freely into expansiveness, despite the panic and tears in my voice: "Maia? Maia? What's happening? What's happening... Oh Maia, it's ok Baby, it's ok..." I wonder if she was just as surprised as I was, or if she was ready.

Can we ever be ready for Death?

This morning my Sweetie and I took Maia for a walk with our friend and her two Great Danes, Maia's best buddies. They had fun and I even commented on how good she looked, running about with her eyes bright, ears perked and tail high - sure signs of happiness. She looked good and felt stable and healthy.

What happened? My mind churns over this pointless question, wanting to know an answer. Blood clot; I bet she threw a blood clot.  But it doesn't matter what it was. The real dilemma is grasping the notion that something can go from such joyful vibrancy to death in a matter of hours or even seconds. One minute, she's resting comfortably on her bed; the next minute, she's gasping for breath... and in a matter of seconds, cold, lifeless, empty, vacant, dead...

At least she was comfortable and content when she died. At least I was with her. At least she didn't suffer... I try to comfort myself with these thoughts, but they don't really matter. My heart is still heavy.  Lady Death leaves a hole in the heart no matter how graciously She passes.

Ironically, in two days I'm hosting a Circle Call about dealing with the body after we die. And I just spent over an hour trying to get my dog's body dealt with on a Sunday when no one wants to deal. We finally connected with a vet who has a heart and agreed to meet us at his clinic to freeze the body for pick up and cremation next week. What an Angel. After many calls to unyielding souls, this man opened his heart to humanity and took responsibility... and I don't even use his clinic! This man gave me a sense of hope for humanity; thank God for such Beings...

So here I sit, heavy-hearted, shocked, grief-stricken and empty. I'm grateful to my Sweetie and our dear friend Christine who came immediately at our call, and is helping deal with the body as well as my heart.

Ironically, today is the 10th anniversary of 9-11. We were having friends over to honor what we'd carried forward from the 9-11 experience 10 years ago, to share loving community in its shadow and to recognize that each moment is truly precious and fragile, no matter how stable it may feel.

Today, I deepen into a new level of gratitude for life... all life, and the love that flows through it every day. May we hold this precious gift in grace, recognizing that each breath is truly sacred.