The thick veil of sleep peels back as I slowly become conscious of the growing light and awareness. It is morning. My first thought – “Where are the cats! ” There are no cat sounds. I am not hearing the squeaky little meows from Ellie- the more vocal of my two cats. Something is missing. She knows when I wake and she stalks around the bedroom in anticipation of being fed.
Ellie is quiet this morning but I feel her presence. I open one eye to find her sitting as usual on the top of Neema’s crate staring at me. She knows that something has changed. Closing my eyes again, I listen to the sounds. There are no sounds – only silence. A profound and deep emptiness pervades my bedroom this morning. The laboured breathing of a small dog is missing. This morning, Neema is not in her crate which has been beside my bed for eight years since I rescued her. This is the first morning without her – a daunting fact that hits home.
Neema, my miniature schnauzer had declined more rapidly than I had expected during the previous week. Her breathing became more laboured. She collapsed several times from some kind of seizure. I had to carry her outside to pee. I knew that the time would come. She was slowing down. There was a time when she would have pulled me around the block. Now, I was the one doing the pulling.
Every pet owner knows this painful and emotionally draining decision making process. Those who assume ownership for the small creatures who enrich our lives and give companionship , also know that we outlive our pets. At some point, we must make the decision to put them down. As a neighbour once said to me “it is our obligation and our privilege to make this decision.” Neema’s passing was dignified surrounded by the people who loved her. With her head on lap, the vet gently emptied the syringe into the catheter. In a moment she was gone.
Most of the time, death comes in its own time. Although with discussions of aided dying for the terminally ill, this might change. With a pet, we must choose death consciously. We must let our pets pass with dignity and limited suffering. Consciously and wholeheartedly, we knowingly enter grief. It is truly our obligation as a pet owner and our privilege to take part fully in the passing.
Spiritually, it is said “that we need to go of something” if we want to grow and to move on in our spiritual and psychological development. The finality of death smacks us with the hidden awarenesses that we are attached to how things “should be”. Worry, anxiety, frustration and procrastination are signals that we are attached to the ways we want things to be; not accepting of what is.
On the other side of the letting go is “let come” I learned this from a book by Judy Cannato “ The Fields of Compassion.” If we say “I have to let go of . . . “ then there is already a psychological attachment to the things that you need to let go of. The mere naming of it this way reinforces the attachment to something that I don’t want.
This is what Judy Cannato says
“What I long ago noticed in myself was that when I am focused on letting go, I am usually focused on what I don’t want. If I am focused on not judging, the focus is still on judging – much like when I try not to think of a purple teddy bear, I think of a purple teddy bear. For me the image of letting go purposed attachment, holding on to something that is keeping me from freely turning to receive that which is emerging. If on the other hand, I am guided by “let come” I find myself in the witness stance, attentive and open to what is emerging.”
In the days following Neema’s passing, grief found a companion in the emptiness of let come. To find peace and contentment with life’s struggles and challenges, we need to accept what is as it is and not struggle fighting against something that we can’t do anything about. This is one of the universal lessons of all spiritual traditions. As the days past, it was time to get another dog and Mina, 10 week old puppy arrived to grace me with new challenges.
Christina Becker
November 2016