Grief and your inner wisdom

On the Friday just past I lost my darling dog Jim.  

He was my constant companion these last 13 years, since I was 21. He represented a time of freedom, My early adulthood. He was our love child. Andy and I got Jim because we loved each other so much. He was the beginning of our family.

We had been together for a year and been trying to settle in Melbourne, but it wasn’t happening. We went to Phillip Island for a weekend getaway and there we saw a beautiful border collie running up the beach, his long mane flowing in the wind. In that moment we had a shared epiphany.

Thats what we wanted. Let’s do that. Andy returned to Perth and within the space of a week had a job, a car, a house and a border collie puppy from Pinjarra. He named him Jim.

I stayed in Melbourne for a couple more weeks, hanging out with my bestie Kat. It was the last time I would see her. She passed 4 months later. I remember how Jim was there with a happy face as I sat in the back garden bleary eyed and and shellshocked with her passing. How he walked with me to Kirkwoods deli at 6am the morning after so I could buy some cigarettes. How oblivious he seemed to my pain. How he taught me that life goes on.

I have not felt grief since, until now.

When I think back on those years Jims presence was a true light. He was soft and shiny and incredibly handsome. So full of love, and cuddles. And present moment joy.

He truly looked like my relative, I’d think. A member of my soul family.

He grew to be somewhat of a familiar. Sitting outside the shiatsu room as I gave massages. Helping bring through the light.

He ran with me, for years. Regular 5k runs. No lead necessary. No lead necessary because he was dependably obedient. Wait, wait, wait, wait, OK. He pissed on everything. Got in a couple of nasty fights, but mostly ran away and avoided challenge. Sometimes he even crossed the road to avoid an ominous dog up ahead.

He used to be amused when we picked up after him.

Nothing made him happier than going out for walks with the family, his pack.

When Andy and I had a cuddle. Jim would come and join in.

Once I had Evie, three years ago now,  I couldn’t pay him attention in the same way. When John John came along I could do so even less. I’m biologically wired to focus on my children, as are all mothers. In these last few months I’ve been more aware of him, more able to let him in again. More conscious to give him pats and attention. But nothing like what it was for the first ten years of his life, before we had babies, when I loved him with my whole being and could devote my attention to him.

I did still of course, love him, but I wasn’t in touch with that part of me. I was distracted by the overwhelming demands of my own children. Even on Thursday night when Andy was gravely concerned about Jims health I found it difficult to emotionally connect to the situation. Then that night I had a prophetic dream where I was being accused of ‘hating jim’ …that I started bawling my eyes out (in the dream) and explaining I did love him I just haven’t had time or the emotional energy or space since having my children. The emotion was raw and fierce and most importantly, connected me with the love I have for Jim. Evie and John John both woke up at the same time right in the midst of this dreaming, unusually early at 5am. Because of the rude awakening my emotional connection to Jim stayed with me. This was a gift from my consciousness preparing me for the day ahead.

I was grumpy all morning until Andy left to drop the children off at daycare. Then I went back to bed. In bed I cried for Jim. I cried and cried like he was already passed. I thought to myself, why don’t you go and actually pat him, he’s just sitting outside. I did. He moved his head to meet my hand, fur still so soft, eyes a bit cloudy.

Even with all this emotion and readiness, it was shocking and hard to hear he needed to be put down that day. To prolong his life anymore was simply cruel, and risky.

I saw him on his bed. His head down. His shoulders slumped. There was a flatness about his energy, his spirit was ready to leave his body.

Andy took him to the vet and left him for examination, expecting to pick him up again and bring him home for recovery. Within a couple of hours they’d called with some bad news. Prepare for him to go.

I got in the car with Andy, breathed out heavy. We had a gorgeous dog with us all this time, for nearly all of our relationship, but today is the day he dies. I breathed out again.

The last couple of days have been a process of grief. I’m in no hurry to move on. I’m feeling all the sadness in the way it needs to be felt.

I’ve found my own inner wisdom gives the most healing inspiration.  The day after I dug out the old photo albums. I saw all the happy times, the fun, his youth and beauty, the thousands of walks over thirteen years.

I did some restorative yoga. The movement helped move and release the emotion in my body.

That afternoon I watched Marley and Me, the movie helped clarify and validate my experience. It soothed me.

I watched a wrinkle in time, more soul medicine.

I went to birthday party and spoke to friends, I went to a workshop and sat circle with women.

I wrote, I kept feeling called to write but I sat at my computer for an hour not able to, just feeling pain.  I went to give up many times but my inner wisdom told me to sit back down and keep trying. and I did, and now I’ve written I feel much better. More healed.

Your own inner wisdom knows the best medicine.

How blessed we have been.