Animals and the Afterlife (40 page)
“I don’t know about
circus,”
she responded, “but he would turn in
circles
like every dog does before he sat down on the grass.”
Oh, duh,
I thought to myself. I hadn’t thought of that. It didn’t occur to me that dogs did that, as the dogs in my own life really hadn’t. However, I figured I must have subconsciously known about this common behavior in dogs, so I dismissed the whole thing as a lucky guess, at best.
However, she then told me the following:
“I think something Bear is trying to communicate has to do with him eating grass. When he got sick he ate a lot of grass.” She added, “It’s funny you talked about Bear’s fur. It was beautiful! I have had other furry babies and they were precious, too, and cute and cuddly, but I have never seen a dog or had one that had fur like Bear’s.”
This did sound consistent with what I had seen, but I figured it had probably been my own imagination making another lucky guess. She continued….
“You made mention about Bear’s incredible eyes. Yes, they were gorgeous. His eyes were brown, but his left eye was incredible; you see, he had an outline of a blue star like the sky around his pupil. And then to top it off his eyes were permanently outlined with a black/brown liner. Like someone put makeup on him. Just incredible!”
The star!
I thought to myself. I wondered if the star in Bear’s eye, around his pupil, was the star I had seen … or if it had all been one big coincidence combined with an overactive imagination on my part. I had always said that skeptics are hard to convince of
anything
; that if they don’t believe in something, they still won’t believe it even if it looks them right in the face. Was I talking about
myself
when I said that?
One afternoon shortly thereafter, I had been working at the computer for many hours and felt that my eyes needed a rest. So I went out on the patio to sit in the sun for a fifteen-minute break. Shortly after I settled back on the lounge chair and closed my eyes, I heard someone make a vocal sound behind and above me. It was an unusual sound and it startled me, as I thought someone was there but couldn’t imagine
who
, since I was supposedly alone. So I nervously looked up and back, and there was a bird up on the roof ledge directly over me, looking straight down at me, just staring. I stared back, captivated by the bird’s gaze.
Then, quite abruptly, the bird flew straight over me—swooping down alarmingly close as he went by—to a tree in front of me. The bird just stayed there and started squawking loudly, looking directly at me. Actually, it sounded more like the bird was
barking.
It was unlike any bird noise I’ve ever heard. It lasted for perhaps a minute, and when it stopped, I regretted not having recorded it.
Then everything became quiet. So I took a deep breath, leaned back on the lounge chair, and closed my eyes. As soon as I did, the bird suddenly flew straight toward me in a flurry (the flapping of his wings was
very
loud and startled me) and then he swerved up to land back on the roof edge above me, where he had started. My heart was racing. I sat straight upright.
“WHAT?!” I yelled, as it was quite evident that this bird was trying to tell me something. Just then, the bird again flew overhead back to the tree, and as I watched, a hummingbird flew straight across in front of me, between myself and the other bird. If the other bird hadn’t so adamantly commanded my attention, I would have been resting with my eyes closed and, therefore, I wouldn’t have seen the hummingbird.
I felt certain that the birds were trying to give me a message. For some reason, I also felt quite strongly that the message was from Bear.
Perhaps that would explain the “barking bird,”
I thought to myself. I was absolutely astonished at the whole experience, as I had never experienced anything quite like it before. The birds remained nearby until I went back inside, and I had the most eerie sensation that they were watching me.
Still trying to register what had just taken place, I went back inside to the computer. I suddenly felt compelled to check my e-mail, even though I had already checked it earlier that day. The first message that popped up was from Jill, and I was amazed at what she had to say:
Today I was out watering the tomato plants and a beautiful hummingbird came to me and hovered about one foot away for about twenty-five seconds. I didn’t want to move, but the water was running over and so I moved and off he flew. I felt that he was trying to get close to me and if I stayed still he would have. I don’t think it was Bear Bear, but a spirit friend of his telling me he’s around. I do believe that Bear Bear has brought us together, and I feel in my heart that you have a special attunement to the animals more than you’re aware of, but Bear knows that and he picked you to communicate with me for him. Please tell him I miss him terribly, and I am trying to be still and listen.
I immediately replied to Jill’s e-mail and told her what had just taken place. I was amazed at how my bizarre experience coincided with her own hummingbird experience.
“Your bird story is incredible,” she responded. “That sounds like Bear. If he wanted someone to really understand—like me—and I wasn’t getting it, he would bark and talk to me. Since I wrote to you about the hummingbird, every time I walk outside they come right around me. They have never done that.”
Several days later, I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of a very unusual bird. It was so loud that it sounded like the bird was in the bedroom. I was having a dream when it began, and the noise kept interfering with the dream, so in the dream I was trying to interpret what was being communicated to me. Just
after
I awoke completely, the sound stopped, and I realized that it had sounded very similar to the “barking bird” I had heard in the yard.
That same night, Jill had an experience of her own, which she informed me of the next day:
Last night around midnight, the front kitchen window, which is pretty big—all of sudden something slammed into it, and it was so loud the windows in the living room shook. For an instant I wanted to believe it was Bear, but then I thought,
No, it’s just a bird and I’d better go check because, God forbid, it might be dead.
They have done this before, but never this loud. They see their reflection in the window and think it is another bird. So I went outside … and nothing. I was thankful there wasn’t a life cut short, but then I started thinking what it was and I remembered that when it happened I had an image in my mind that Bear had jumped up and hit the window. He used to jump up and look out the window, but maybe he was trying to get my attention.
Jill and I kept in touch via e-mail and phone, and we continued to inform each other of our experiences, which continued to coincide quite amazingly.
“I don’t feel his presence like that right now,” I told her one day, “but I get the feeling he’s off doing something very important and will continue checking in on both of us from time to time.”
“It’s funny you would say you feel he is doing something important,” she replied, “because that is what I have also been feeling.” She said she had been meditating and trying to contact him but couldn’t really concentrate and wasn’t getting anywhere. She figured it was more difficult, anyway, because she was still in grief. She then told me about a dream she’d had the night before:
Last night I had a dream or vision. A dog came to me, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Bear or any of my other friends I had here. It’s hard to remember, but I do remember he was three different colors or tones, and I was pretty sure he was telling me Bear Bear was okay but couldn’t come right now, but would later…. I also got the impression I was supposed to leave him alone…. I won’t be satisfied until it is clear and my sweet boy actually comes to me. It is so hard to wait and be patient…. What do you think about my dream or whatever you call it?
I did think her dream, or vision, was significant and contained a real message. I knew she was wanting a very
literal
and
direct
contact from Bear. I suspected the messenger in the dream may have been telling her not to try so hard to
force
such a contact. Perhaps she needed to let go of him, at least temporarily, as a part of healing her grief and letting him do whatever he needed to do in spirit. Meanwhile, it did seem that he was
already
sending messages to both of us to keep in touch, to let her know he was fine, and to make sure
she
was okay, too.
Around that time, a very large dog came running through our yard, right past the window where I was sitting and working at the computer. I had never seen the dog before, and I’ve never seen him since. It’s
not
a common occurrence to see dogs run past the window, as we have a front gate, so I figured this dog must have run up a steep hill to get around the gate. He just ran by, and then he was gone. I’d had experiences like this before, with strange dogs appearing in the yard shortly after a beloved animal had passed over, and I had heard of similar occurrences from other people
.
That night, while still working at the computer, I repeatedly saw something flashing by out of the corner of my right eye … but every time I turned and looked, there was nothing there. This got me thinking about something odd that had been happening ever since Jill and I had been in regular contact regarding Bear: Sometimes when I went into the rats’ room, they seemed startled, acting as if they saw someone with me, someone I
didn’t
see. Several of them seemed to be running and hiding from something, but again, I didn’t see anything. They don’t normally do this, unless there is a stranger with me, someone they don’t know. I wondered if there
was
someone with me—someone whom I couldn’t see but who they
could
see.
Was it Bear?
Jill and Bear had had a very strong telepathic connection when Bear was alive, and Jill had had various past experiences indicating that she was quite in tune with the spirit world already. As a result of Bear’s passing, Jill now had a renewed passion for her own spiritual development, and she began meditating regularly. Her motivation, initially, was specifically to open herself up to contact Bear in spirit. However, her spiritual practice now had the unanticipated benefit of pulling her out of her grief and despair. In her words:
With Bear’s crossing, it has really made me want to learn and grow. I always did, but we get caught up in this world and forget about what we’re really here for…. I am ready to experience more and delve into the unknown…. I wasn’t [previously] ready, experienced enough in this life, nor mature enough with my soul and mind to proceed to the next stage. I feel very strongly now I am…. Oh, I am so excited! I haven’t felt this way in years.
Jill experienced the normal ups and downs of healing grief, but her newly ignited spirituality greatly assisted her with this process. Meanwhile, I continued to feel Bear’s presence on a regular basis.
Over time, Bear began appearing directly to Jill in dreams and visions, and interestingly, as soon as this started, all of my own experiences with Bear stopped. Suddenly, I no longer felt his presence around me. I got the feeling that I had been a bridge between them until she was able to let go of her own grief enough—and to trust enough—to receive contact from him directly.
And so it was with others who, over time, found their way to me during times of overwhelming grief. They—and I—always came away from these experiences uplifted, intrigued, and expanded. The “coincidences” continued to amaze me, and as I observed the never-ending synchronicities, I began to see a Divine order to the universe, a universe that animals are very much a part of. It seemed that the animals on the Other Side were well aware of the work I was doing, and they continued to somehow make their presence known to me just before their devoted people contacted me for support.
It was never something I planned; it just happened—and continues to happen. It has now become a part of who I am, and as I learn to trust the process more completely—to let go of my skepticism and self- doubt, I suspect it will continue and increase. I feel honored to be in such a position, and grateful that the animals—and the spirit world—are assisting me in assisting others. I couldn’t do it without them.
The Hard Part Is Letting Go: Handling Grief
Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood.
—M
ARIE
C
URIE
“W
OW, HE REALLY LOVES YOU
,” said the veterinary assistant as she carried little Jonathan away while he desperately reached out to me with both arms, clearly not wanting her to take him away from me. Jonathan was old for a rat, but his symptoms had come on quite suddenly, and we knew something was terribly wrong. His breathing sounded awful, his white fur was standing on end, and he wasn’t eating at all. He was so weak he could hardly move. Jameth and I had rushed him to an emergency animal hospital in the middle of the night.
“I love him, too,” I cried as she whisked Jonathan away to an oxygen tank in the back room, where non-employees weren’t allowed. I had been torn as to what to do. I wanted what was best for Jonathan and I knew the oxygen might help, but I also knew the separation would devastate both of us. So I stood in the hallway and cried as Jameth tried his best to comfort me. Every time someone came through the door from the back room, I asked for the status of the little white rat in the oxygen tank.
After what seemed like an eternity, Jonathan was brought to a room where Jameth and I met with the vet on duty. He told us he had very little experience with rats and suggested we take Jonathan to our regular vet the next morning. This would be no small task, as our regular vet at that time was two hours away. We took Jonathan home and spent the rest of the night trying to keep him as comfortable as possible. We did everything we could think of to help him, but he continued to weaken.
Early the next morning, we headed from San Diego to Los Angeles, Jameth behind the wheel and me cradling little Jonathan in my arms. As the miles went by, I felt that Jonathan’s time was running out. It felt as if we were running a race we couldn’t win.
When we finally arrived at our destination, I rushed inside with Jonathan while Jameth searched for a parking space. I anxiously paced in the waiting room, gently rocking Jonathan and assuring him that everything would be okay. Jameth soon joined us as we were quickly ushered into an examination room. I stroked Jonathan’s little body and told him everything was going to be okay. The vet, Dr. Debbie Oliver, entered the room as I gently set him down on the table. Just then, his breathing changed dramatically and I knew he was leaving.
“You
can’t
die!” I cried, begging him to stay. “You
can’t
leave!” I told him how much we needed him, how much the other rats at home needed him. A moment later, he was gone. Just like that. Before anything could be done. I began sobbing and blaming myself out loud for not having gotten help sooner.
“Now, I don’t want to hear any of that coulda-woulda-shoulda nonsense,” Dr. Oliver said gently as I continued sobbing. Being a highly sensitive and compassionate person, she understood all too well what I was going through. I can only imagine how many times a veterinarian must witness such a scene, and I doubt it ever gets any easier. She did her best to comfort us and then left Jameth and me alone in the room with Jonathan’s body.
“Take as long as you need,” she said softly as she closed the door behind her. We were devastated, and her sensitivity and compassion made a world of difference in those first moments as we faced our loss. Jonathan was our first loss after June, and we hadn’t gotten any better at it.
While we were still in the room trying to come to grips with Jonathan’s death, we heard sobbing in the next room. A woman was simultaneously facing the loss of her beloved dog. We soon found out that there was a third loss that morning as well. It was a gloomy Monday morning that none of us would ever forget. Soon, virtually everyone in the building was crying.
We requested an autopsy and spent the next hour or two in the waiting room as Dr. Oliver faced emergency after emergency that morning. In between her duties, she consoled those of us in grief with soft words and a gentle, loving presence.
While the autopsy was in process, I headed out to our vehicle to get some paperwork. I needed something to take my mind somewhere else for a while. As I then headed back toward the animal hospital, I passed the woman who had just lost her dog. Our eyes met, and it was almost as if I were looking in a mirror. Our souls met, and we embraced. The two of us had never met and yet, in that moment, we were one and the same. We had everything in common. It was as if we had the same history, one of overwhelming love and overwhelming loss.
We stood there for a long while, hugging each other tightly, offering simultaneous condolences, and sobbing. I felt such love for—and from—this woman, and I didn’t even know her name. Somehow, I think our shared grief brought shared healing. There was no question as to whether or not our grief was understood; we were right there in it, together. I’ve perhaps never felt greater understanding from a fellow human being than I did in that moment.
Long after she and I had offered our final words of comfort and said our good-byes, that encounter left a lasting impression on my soul. It brought a much needed healing, and it also brought me some incredible insight into the importance of grief support. We don’t just need to be hugged; we need to be
understood
. Those who lose a beloved companion animal don’t always have that level of support. In fact, more often than not, we don’t. Many of us are surrounded by well- meaning people who just don’t know how to comfort us.
“Don’t cry,” we’re sometimes told. This is usually said with sympathy and concern, but it is truly the last thing we need to hear during these times. We
do
need to cry. Sometimes we need to cry long and hard and loud, and we need a safe space in which to do it. We need to know that it’s okay to cry, and we need those around us to know that it’s okay. It’s part of the healing. Bottled up grief hurts us emotionally and it hurts us physically. It also prevents us from being able to fully heal and move forward in life.
“It’s just an animal,” some say. “You can just get another one.” For those of us who have loved and lost an animal, it’s difficult to even
imagine
saying such a thing, but people do. First of all, an animal is not an “it.” Secondly, “just an animal” implies that our grief is somehow less significant just because our loved one didn’t happen to be
human
, and this is a comment based in speciesism and not reality. It’s the bond of love that makes death difficult, and the stronger the bond, the more difficult the loss,
regardless
of species.
Thirdly, we
can’t
just get “another one.” The animal we loved and lost is a unique soul with whom we’ve had a unique relationship. Sometimes, having other animals around helps us to get through the pain, but other times, we need a certain degree of healing
before
we’re ready to love someone else. This is really an individual thing, so it’s important that we listen to our hearts and not follow advice that doesn’t feel right to us.
It is important to validate the very real emotions of those who have lost beloved animals and who require the same support as those who have lost beloved humans. It’s time we dispel the notion that grief over the death of an animal is somehow lesser, or that it is merely a rehearsal for “the real thing.” It
is
the real thing! Many people are actually closer to the animals in their life than the
humans
in their life; and love is love. Grief is not species-specific. It’s okay to feel the way we feel and, in fact, it’s important to find appropriate avenues for expressing these feelings.
If a person is unable to find adequate support among family or friends, it may be helpful and even necessary to seek outside assistance. There are grief counselors, support groups, and even grief-support hotlines. If seeking such assistance, it’s important to ascertain that they are animal friendly and treat grief over the loss of an animal with the same respect as grief over the loss of a human. If they aren’t and they don’t, it’s best to keep looking. Ideally, we should seek such support from a counselor, group, or hotline that specializes in
pet
loss.
I can’t emphasize enough the importance of seeking support among people or institutions that acknowledge the existence of animals in the hereafter—or are at least open to the idea. Many people have turned to people they trust—or institutions they have faith in—thinking they’ll find the support and comfort they need, only to be fed the outdated notion that animals do not have souls. Countless people have come away from these experiences totally confused and devastated, and more in need of grief support than ever.
I always encourage people to send sympathy cards to those who have lost beloved animals, just as we send cards when
humans
die. I recall a time when a business associate told me that his dog had just died. He was torn up with grief, as this dog had been his best friend for many years. I recalled how much it had meant to me when others had sent me sympathy cards on the loss of an animal in my own life, so I sent this man a sympathy card.
Shortly thereafter, he called to thank me for the card and to let me know how very much it meant to him. He said that none of his friends or family had offered any gestures of sympathy whatsoever, even though they all knew how special this dog was to him. They all just expected him to “get over it.” He confessed to me that he had been crying over the loss, a confession that he dared not disclose to anyone else. It broke my heart to hear this, yet this is all too often the case. Real men
do
cry when they need to, so our culture needs to make it okay. Grief is neither gender-specific nor age-specific (nor species- specific, for that matter). It is a universal emotion.
J
UST AS WE NEED TO TAKE CARE
to validate the grief of grown-ups, it’s important to take into consideration the grief of children. Very often, the loss of a pet is a child’s very first experience with death. That was certainly the case for me. Compounding the grief is the confusion that often surrounds this early experience of loss. Parents often battle their own personal grief over the loss of a family pet while simultaneously trying awkwardly to explain death to a bewildered child. I encourage parents not to hide their grief from their children, but rather, to explain
why
Mommy or Daddy is crying. This sets a good example for the child that it
is
okay to feel and express emotion.
I was once contacted by a woman who was very concerned about her young daughter. The family had recently lost their pet hamster, Max, and the daughter was devastated by the loss. The family had Max stuffed and kept his body in the cage he had lived in. However, the little girl didn’t understand why Max wouldn’t eat or play with her, despite the fact that her parents had explained to her numerous times that Max was in Heaven. The daughter was having a lot of trouble sleeping due to the loss, and she spent hours just staring into the cage repeating, “Max, why won’t you play with me?” She was even caught playing with him shortly after he had been stuffed. The mother had exhausted all ideas on how to make her daughter understand that she couldn’t play with Max anymore, so she was seeking my advice on how to help her daughter.
I suggested that the family hold a funeral and perhaps bury Max’s body, involving their daughter in the ceremony as much as possible. I wasn’t sure whether or not the little girl should be involved in the actual burial, as it might be too upsetting for her; but it seemed to me that the body did need to go away so that the little girl could better grasp the reality of Max’s departure from the physical world. Regardless of this detail, I suggested they do their best to make it a positive and educational experience for their daughter, enabling her to truly let go of Max. I don’t know if that’s what the woman wanted to hear or if she took my advice, as I never heard back from her. I could be entirely wrong, but I suspect that keeping Max’s body around wasn’t doing her daughter any favors.
Humans have held ceremonies to mark various rites of passage for ages, perhaps since the beginning of time. Without a ceremony—in this case, a funeral—there is no clearly defined transition from one life experience to the next. As far as the little girl could tell, her beloved friend was still very much around, but something dreadful had happened to him, rendering him unable to eat or play or even move. From her perspective, he was cold and stiff and paralyzed, so it must have been difficult for her to imagine how he could possibly be in Heaven when he appeared to be suffering right here on Earth. I am certain that her parents had the very best of intentions in having Max’s body stuffed, and they never intended any emotional harm whatsoever to their daughter.