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SEE THE GIFTS
I worry that if I don't write this down, it will soon become fleeting, a faded memory in sepia tones or like a photograph with torn edges. I want something other than that for this. I want to remember these gifts he left me (us).
Hours before we brought him to the vet, I lay on the carpet beside his dog bed. His body was tired; his legs no longer worked; he rested his head on the edge of the bed just so. Occasionally, he would open his eyes and see me over the ridge. His nose was dry. Words like "treat" or "walk" no longer perked his ears or sent a bolt of energy cascading through the house. He was sick. He had pushed and pushed for months, carried his shaky legs around, woke us up hourly in the middle of the night to be let out, let us shove pills and solutions down his throat, weathered surgery, given up going upstairs to put Lily to sleep, forgone foraging under the dinner table, inched as we hurried him on walks; he was tired.
Three nights before this day, I sat with him in his bed on our family camping trip, peering over the top of him, curled up in a ball, and started to cry. There was no exchange of words, a look, or a sound, but he told me, "Let go." When he was diagnosed with cancer, I always asked him, "Let me know. Promise you'll let me know when it's your time." And he did--this day. (Best boy.) I looked at my husband and said, "It's his time. We have let go. He told me." I knew. Dax knew. We all knew.
It's a strange feeling to know you have a few hours with a cherished person or pet before they're no longer physically here. Many paradoxes exist in those moments. I'm heartbroken to lose him and relieved he will no longer be in pain. It is never the right time, but it is. I don't know how to explain death to a six-year-old, and I do. I didn't want to take him to the vet, but I had to. Between these "and's and buts "is me steading my thoughts, darting from one end to the other. This, too, I can hold, I'd remind myself.
I put my head down close to his in his bed; any other day, I'd tell him, "We have to clean your bed; it stinks Daxie Pooh. Who's the best boy? You are. I'll take you for a walk later. Love you, stay, be a good boy."
But this was no ordinary day. These were our last hours together. Instead, I leaned in and said, "Promise me you'll let me know when you are on the other side. Please send me a sign, visit me in a dream, let me hear your nails walk across the floor, whatever you can do, send me a sign you're okay. I don't know where you're going exactly, but wherever you go, be a good boy, okay? Promise."
I stroked his head over his eyes, and he closed them. I twirled his velvet ears, overcome with grief losing sight of him completely. My breath stopped, my face tightened, and my heart wrenched. This was goodbye.
We arrived at the vet's office and had a room with an outdoor patio. We placed his bed on the patio floor, surrounded by plants and trees. The birds sang, flying in and over us. The vets explained the procedure and took him back for his catheter. He didn't know what was happening. We ushered him onto his bed, and he laid down. Tears were streaming down my and my husband's faces; we were saying we loved him. I remember saying I'm so sorry, Dax. I'm so sorry. I'm unsure exactly what I was sorry about; maybe I couldn't save and protect him from cancer. I couldn't shield him from this moment. It was all a blur. The vet said, "He's gone." I was so heartbroken; tears poured, my head hung down with my hands extended out to him, touching his paws, and out of nowhere, I heard this child-like voice clearly say to me.
"I'm free, Mom. I'm SO happy."
I got this picture of him in my mind when he was a puppy, so full of energy, jumping up for a ball at a park. My tears stopped immediately. It was instantaneous. This wave of peace and calm blew through me. I wanted to smile but knew that would be so wrong now. I turned to my husband and said, "He's free. He's happy. I am certain."
I don't know if I'll ever be able to paint the picture with words of that moment. Hearing that voice, seeing that image, understanding with such certainty it was him. He followed through on my ask so profoundly that I'll never entirely know how it could work out that way. And the message; I'm free. I'm happy. This is what I've been studying for the past five years. He sat in every virtual contemplative practice class with me, next to me for every recorded meditation, years listening to me type, write, and read to the computer screen, sat next to me for every book I read, for every meeting, for every lecture; he was there. There was nothing more perfect to say to me than those two words, happy and free. How could he get it so right? So perfect? Happiness and freedom, we’re all in search of this and he could claim it.
The profound and unspoken connection that exists physically and non-local pulls at my heart the most; think how much he understood and never judged. Although occasionally, he was incredibly stubborn and insistent when he wanted to go his way on a walk, not mine. ;) Think how much he felt from us. Think of all the secrets he held. Think how deeply entangled we are. Think how much he loved us. (This one gets me the most.)
That moment left me feeling like he is here with me. It is subtler now. I have to pay close attention. The texture is different. The habits and patterns are new, but he's here. He's a guide, a teacher, a friend in a new way. He's showing me freedom and happiness in ways I didn't know were possible. He's such a good boy. Of course, I miss everything that was, but I'm no longer that version of me. My mind wants to emphasize the emptiness of the spaces where he usually is. It wants to manifest a void, the loss of what I knew, and always contrast the now against the past. But I want something different. I want to create something new (with him). I want to be happy and free too. We're taking different walks these days, and honestly, he can go any way he pleases now, but I'm so damn grateful he showed me we're still together. I'm forever indebted to him.
May we all be free. May we all be happy. Just like Daxie-pooh.
In loving memory of Dax Decker.
Walk in Beauty Guided Meditation Practice
Part of my training in MBSR was an all-day virtual silent retreat. As an activity, we listened to a poem by The Navajo Nation called “Walk in Beauty.” Afterward, we were invited to walk outside (in beauty). A few days later, I found myself on a hike without Dax as he was too weak to make the loop and recorded the Beautiful Breath Guided Meditation nestled into the foothills. Although I missed him and knew we would no longer share these walks as we had in the past, I could still find beauty everywhere I went because of this poem. That is a gift. I hope to pass this opportunity on to you--see you in practice. Listen here.
Walking in Beauty: Closing Prayer from the Navajo Blessing Way Ceremony
In beauty I walk
With beauty before me I walk
With beauty behind me I walk
With beauty above me I walk
With beauty around me I walk
It has become beauty again
Hózhóogo naasháa doo Shitsijí’ hózhóogo naasháa doo Shikéédéé hózhóogo naasháa doo Shideigi hózhóogo naasháa doo T’áá altso shinaagóó hózhóogo naasháa doo Hózhó náhásdlíí’ Hózhó náhásdlíí’ Hózhó náhásdlíí’ Hózhó náhásdlíí’
Today I will walk out, today everything negative will leave me
I will be as I was before, I will have a cool breeze over my body.
I will have a light body, I will be happy forever, nothing will hinder me.
I walk with beauty before me. I walk with beauty behind me.
I walk with beauty below me. I walk with beauty above me.
I walk with beauty around me. My words will be beautiful.
In beauty all day long may I walk.
Through the returning seasons, may I walk.
On the trail marked with pollen may I walk.
With dew about my feet, may I walk.
With beauty before me may I walk.
With beauty behind me may I walk.
With beauty below me may I walk.
With beauty above me may I walk.
With beauty all around me may I walk.
In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, lively, may I walk.
In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, living again, may I walk.
My words will be beautiful…
Daily Intention: May I see the gifts around me.
May this intention remind us to pause and see what gifts live here at this moment. I know we are faced with challenges at times and my hope is that an intention like this can spark a moment of curiosity and openness to life’s precious gifts.
LET’S STAY CONNECTED.
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Weekly Practice: See the Beauty