The Gift of Insight (may be painful)

 "This practice of inner hospitality means welcoming in whatever it is we are experiencing as having the possibility of wisdom for us."
Christine Valters Paintner 

'Until our certitudes and our own little self-written success stories begin to fall apart, we usually won’t touch upon any form of deeper wisdom.'

Richard Rohr

 

 

 

These two quotations came up for me in rapid succession this morning, both jumping out very pointedly, from the page. They both apply to my process grieving Danny - to that aspect which is most mystifying to others, that of my self examination, "fault-finding" and  daily (hourly sometimes) review of all that I can learn from Dan's last year. ...from our life together, everything that points toward work I still need to do.

Why is it that after losing a loved one, we humans suddenly explode into all that we wish we had done, that we regret, that we would change if only we could have our beloved back again? I actually patted myself on the back on occasion, about Dan. Alex liked to say "THANK GOD that dog came to you. If he'd been fed junk kibble, vaxxed every year, harshly disciplined, etc  he wouldn' t have made 10 years old."

...and you know...I believe that is true, we achieved advanced old age in part due to my ministrations, gentleness, love, herbs....yes. I won't take that away from myself, from my story with Dan.
At the end of his life he was a central focus, even as I struggle with daily pain and fatigue, and the stress of COVID, finances and overdue projects. He had his three meals, handfed mostly, he had his herbs, I researched his health issues, I mopped endless indoor pee, I jumped up to smooth his bedding every single time he messed it up (which is to say, constantly). I tended to him with the deepest love, if also a large dose of denial.

And so yes, I can take credit as a loving and devoted Mom. But it is that last bit - denial - I need to address, not only with regard to my life with dogs, cats and  one foul-mouthed bird who will no doubt outlive me - but in terms of my own mortality, and those I love. Denial can help us cope, but it can also blind us to things we need to do in preparation for inevitabilities - like loss, death, and all those things we prefer not to think about daily.

Here's an example of my souldeep denial at the end of Dan's life; a week before he died I wrote to his vet asking if neutering him might help.

Despite his age and heart issue and GOLPP. I was desperate to stop the blood clots, what I thought was severe bacterial prostatitis. I would have done anything to stave off the inevitable.

Denial, is one thing that I need to address. The thought of losing Dan was so painful to me I just kept on fighting. So that - my tendency to defy the things I don't like and not accept them - is one aspect of wisdom I still have ahead of me, to learn.

 

And, there is so much more.

 

 

Sixteen Weeks Ago Today

  Sixteen weeks ago today, at the time I am writing this post, Danny was beginning his journey into death. I did not know it, although it was a great fear; I had taken him for an ultrasound to find out why he was passing  blood, much of it clotted, from his urethra. He had responded well to antibiotics three weeks earlier which supported my idea this was all prostate. But then it came back with a vengeance and he was blocking up - in pain - I could have just let him go, but on the chance we could clear the infection and get him more time, I took him for the ultrasound.

He died around noon, in a crisis after his ultrasound, I was with him but unable to hold him. The imprint of that memory is with me always. It  was a terrible way for 14 1/2 years of so much love and  connection to end, but it was my love language in action: I fight for what I care about. His pain and his death was awful and I am filled with regret, but I remind myself - daily - I was trying to save him. It was horrible for both of us to be separated, even for an hour - so it almost seems fitting we had to be ripped apart like that at the end.

As time goes by I am somewhat more forgiving of myself, about all of this. At the very least, reliving it is not omnipresent...it is no less painful when I do, but I "go there" less frequently. I am better able to function. A low grade sadness and loneliness has taken the place of nonstop crying, anxiety and shock.I occupy my time with work, with looking for solutions for the many challenges I am facing now, with some good tv and reading (I could not read at all the first three months).  I have resumed my courses and  work goals from January  - some of them anyway. I cry every day, but actually feel better afterwards. I have insights that bring warmth and gratitude to my heart, not as something I know I should feel, but as a deep, felt experience. 

I am in another phase of grief.

 

Right now I miss Daniel with a yearning, a sadness and a love that really cannot be put into words. I miss our time together - the freedom, the fun, the happiness of it all. I miss Rupert still (despite Alex just shaking his head and walking away when I mention that) and I miss the lost opportunities I had during my 11 years in that house with Dan, to  prevent some of the challenges I am facing now. I miss feeling hopeful and looking forward to better things yet to come. I miss feeling flooded with a rapturous connection to nature. All of that and more is connected to Dan.

But mostly, I miss feeling so needed and so completely loved. I miss his happy smile whenever he saw me, like I'd been gone a week. I miss coming up behind him when he was sitting in his chair and hugging him, which he tolerated pretty well, given it was not his favorite thing. I miss baking his cookies, feeding him treats, all our silly songs and phrases and conversations. I miss his beautiful energy, always beside me. I miss his sweet funny mannerisms, his jaunty gait when he was  so happy to be outdoors, his head tilt when he came toward me, his stretching in the doorway before he would go out/come in...all of it.

I miss that mystical sense of..timelessness, when you are with a being you love, happy, connected to the beauty of life...like when we would lie in bed late at night in Rupert, in spring, listening to coyotes and the gurgling of Indian Creek - magic. I miss that timelessness - so much of our time in Rupert was characterized by that sensation.

 I miss and love him so, so much. 

I love how clear the heart/angel on his chest is here.

16 weeks ago today - an eternity, and yesterday at the same time.

I continue to try to grow strong, carry forth all I became with and because of him, which is to say a kinder, deeper, more balanced person. With him I gained a great deal of knowledge that came as a result of being a homebody, as I could really not take him everywhere and so I stopped going out. People saw that as neurotic, excessive  - but for me, it was fantastic, gave me the time and solitude I had needed all my life to gain both knowledge and wisdom. He was my reason for taking that time and my continual solace and company through it all.

And slowly, almost imperceptibly, gratitude reaches out to balance grief. Strength of spirit overcomes that horrible feeling of utter powerlessness that death always brings. Hope, however small, creeps in to chastise despair.

I am not "there "yet by a long shot.  But, I am moving in that direction.

One day at a time.

May

  Right now I am in an up and down stage - I'm  never "ok" but I have days where the sadness is just that - sadness, not tidal waves of sobbing, self blame, anxiety - I'm just sad, I just miss him with every breath, but I'm doing a bit better. On these days I work on my herbal courses, try to resume the very high energy I (mysteriously) had in January, the last month of  his life.

Yesterday was a tidal wave day, and I had two hours in the dental chair and then home to client work I was far too weak to tackle. I find that distancing right now, helps; when I zero in and focus, I fall apart.

Putting these pics together for a series of Danny's May images initiated much misery. I am learning so much about life from the death of this Bright Spirit who always felt like a gift from Above...one of which is, how easily we squander the time that is given to us.

Here are some May images from Dan's life, and they are, to me, incredibly poignant.

2007: he was 9 months old and BURSTING with life.

 

 In some of these images he looks so little, still, in others I see the beautiful young man he would become. He was always happy. He was always good.

 

                                                                       2008

I lost all most of 2008 when I switched computers - May 2008 we lost Lila, I have only these pics of that incredibly sad time. My father died a few weeks later, and I battled some depression for much of the year.

He lay with her like this the last three weeks, after her cancer had returned and we knew it was the end for her.
I think she finally forgave him for not being Luke. <3

 

Another of my alltime favorites of Dan, his pure joy in life, in running! and finding his Mom to always  be there and make things safe.

                                                           2009

Just two happy back field pics, a year unblemished by personal tragedy, a good year overall.

                                                               2010

 

 

Just a happy May afternoon out back, a good summer, blessed magical days.

                                                   

                                                          2011

                          So many happy afternoons out back. See the nettles are growing!

On this particular May walk, we went via an open field in Rupert, into the enchanted forest and beyond. He loved new and different walks and never, ever strayed too far from Mom.

Not quite 5 and already going grey. He could be very serious as well as joyful and hyper.

                                                                  2012

Some seriously good times - I was deep into herbal medicine making - spruce tips and lilac flower essence below - Dan was going greyer by the minute and not yet 6! but we had so much  happiness.

Lilacs for Lila, who died in May 2008. Every May the white lilac on our property bloomed and often, on the same day she died. I made Lilac Flower Essence there for years.


                                                               2013
                                              Deep into the mystic, we were

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                  2014

He was not quite 8 here and very grey, so many people we would meet would call him "an old guy". He was in fact very young, internally and at heart! He did forage vigorously for violets, which are cooling, moist and alterative, often used in cancer. I took note. This was our last good year before The Troubles hit.

                                                                2015


2015 was a good year until June, when I lost my cat Quinn on the road, was subjected to a vicious Internet attack by the boyfriend of a "competitor" and was so sadly betrayed by  a man I thought of as a brother, who ran my website and who left me completely lost trying to manage it on my own, over a dispute about what constitutes freedom of speech on  a forum we ran together. Later that year, the woman I thought of as my human Anam Cara, went into some kind of hate-thing toward me, badmouthing me all over and misinterpreting everything I said; ended with me laying out what, on MY end, was going on that needed to be dealt with and I never heard from her again - she continued to malign me all over, though, ending a ten year friendship that was deeply important to me. Lastly, Alex fell seriously ill, almost died, later that year and lost a very promising job opportunity out West,   starting the slide into complete inability to work at all.
And, 2016 was worse.

But in May, I was still filled with deep spiritual love of the land I lived on, joy and excitement for the work I do, and always, the magical and  amazing company of my true Anam Cara, my Danny.

 

 

 

 

 

 

In 2016, in March, we were unceremoniously handed a notice of possession, meaning the owner's son was to take over the house, after I had mentioned that we needed to really address a few repairs, years overdue - wham! we were booted. I was so far beyond devastated I don't really have words, and the next two years were stress laden, anxiety driven nightmares as we searched for a place to bring all our animals...my apothecary...my BOOKS...so, no pictures. Dan turned 10 in 2016 and 11 in 2017, and right as we moved to our current address, the magical Owlhaven - he was diagnosed with valvular disease. Life changed, forever. 

2018

 

 

 

                                                                           2020

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the top image I can see his arched back - he was just starting to pass the odd blood clot, we were working on the premise it was his enlarged prostate. He was up and down all year, and this was to be his last May. The last image is particularly poignant.

My darling.