I was in Portland Maine, on my last night before returning to St. Thomas, when a phone call from home left me sobbing and gasping in shock at the news that a freak accident had taken the life of Roxy, my beloved 13-year-old poodle. I was inconsolable. I’d been carrying around a little Chihuahua in Maine because she was the size of Roxy and I missed Roxy’s endless licks and joyful barks. It hit me like a ton of bricks that I would never again be greeted by her fluffy over-the-top enthusiasm and bathed in her unconditional love.
Tears flowed freely and in hiccoughs, as I went to sleep, as I woke up, on the plane the next day and as I’ve shared the news with friends, family and those who knew and loved Roxy. I stopped crying long enough to call a friend who said he’d come by early the next morning to dig a grave.
Roxy was a spunky little fur ball with a big presence, an attitude and an endless supply of wet kisses. She was born on the pillow end of the bed where my then 10 year old daughter and I lay sleeping and has been with us ever since. It’s hard not to picture her bounding around the corner, demanding breakfast, curling up next to me.
When things end we are reminded that everything changes, that nothing stays the same. It’s the very nature of life on the physical plane. We get attached to people, pets, places and things, so that their loss or ending leaves a hole, a wound and we experience grief – deep to the core gut wrenching grief. Even as we know that things change, we resist their changing and it hurts.
As I helped fill in the grave my friend had dug I talked about Roxy’s life, what an amazing dog she was and of how much I loved her. My friend told me an animal love story about leaving home over a goat when he was 16 and never eating meat again. We shared our love of animals knowing that we are here together, all of us God’s creatures, on this precious earth.
I planted a big stand of lilies on the burial mound and added a wall of stones and shells dotted with small purple flowers and plans for more. My daughter placed a heart shape rock on the grave and I am tending this sad, beautiful new garden with special love.
Even as I’ve kept drowning in waves of disbelief, I am aware that there are lessons here that have to do with endings, with death and with what I believe about all that. Just a week before, I’d picked up the book Emmanuel –– a channeled question and answer session with Emmanuel, a non-physical entity who speaks through a guide. Asked about death, Emmanuel replied ‘death is like taking off a too tight shoe”. It’s a release, liberation, being set free.
He said that our picture of death as an ending is incorrect and the best is yet to come. We continue to exist just in a different, more expansive energetic form.
I’m exploring and learning about death and the transition that Roxy made and that we all get to make. I’m listening, learning and being guided to find and live the answers to my questions.
Carpe Diem is the other message I get loud and clear: seize the day, love the one you’re with, be here now, tell it like it is, tap into the power of now and enjoy every sandwich.
As I continue to mourn Roxy, it feels right to sob out all those tears so I can change the channel and focus on how lucky I got to spend a whole 13 years with such a fabulous creature and to celebrating Roxy. What a joyous long term cross species co-creative relationship and an endless source of unconditional love it was!
My sister said that she’s had a couple of Roxy ‘sightings’ just as she said that our father appeared to her a few times shortly after he passed away. She said Roxy’s doing great, barking away and jumping up and down.
Since all dogs go to heaven, expect to be licked all over and greeted with wild exuberance and much fanfare by my beloved Roxy (1999-2012) when you make your appearance.
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