Frankie died in the summer of 2012. My dear paralyzed dachshund had lived life to the fullest in a wheelchair and helped me grow in ways I'd never imagined. Her death threw me into a state of feeling deep grief and loss. Ten months later, I was grieving yet again-this time for Joie, another special-needs dachshund I'd adopted from a rescue organization four months after Frankie passed away.
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Frankie & I, by Brook Burlings
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Being married for almost thirty-two years to my high school sweetheart, I can't imagine life without my husband. But I've been down the path of grief with the deaths of six cats and a chocolate Labrador; loss certainly wasn't new to me.
Others who have lost a pet share in my experience: we often feel misunderstood or embarrassed about our feelings. Instead of finding a way to move through the grief, we stuff our feelings down or push them aside. We are afraid that, if we express how truly heartbroken we are, others may think, "
It was just a pet."
Many of us carry so much guilt, thinking we could have done more, that we weren't attentive enough, or that we were heartless for making the agonizing decision to euthanize a suffering pet. We plague ourselves with the "what-ifs."
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Barb and Joie, by John Techel
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While I still grieve when I lose a pet, I have evolved in my understanding over the years that grief is a process. There is no right or wrong way to grieve, grief has no time frame and is very personal and different for everyone. Grief is grief, whether for a human or for an animal.
The day before I said goodbye to Frankie, I found it extremely beneficial to speak with an animal communicator. She said, "Frankie told me loud and clear that you two are a team. There is a very deep love between the two of you. Frankie says that there has been an evolution of equality between you. She is affirming that what you gave her is equal to what she gave you."
I was humbled and relieved that Frankie felt this way. "What I'm getting from Frankie," said the communicator, "is that she was a channel of healing energy for you -- that there was much below the surface for you that needed healing." This brought tears to my eyes; nothing could have been more true. Frankie did help heal the sense of failure and inadequacy I'd felt for years.
Frankie cracked my heart wide open, helping to soften my heart, helping me to be less controlling, and deepening my compassion not only for animals but also for people. Because our connection was so strong, I made a conscious effort to really
be with Frankie as the vet gave her the shot that would ease her into the next realm. I thanked her for all she did for me and told her how much I loved her.
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Frankie, by Barbara Techel
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I Am One Who will always be in your heart, guiding you toward the light. I remind you to stay tuned in to your heart's desire and follow its lead. I am here to remind you that you are making a difference even when you doubt yourself. I Am One Who walks quietly beside you as your friend and forever guide. I am here.
When I discovered SoulCollage� almost two years ago, I realized it could help with the death of a pet. Just as mentors and others we admire have been influential in our lives, our pets also serve as wonderful guides. Their teachings become a part of us-something we will always have.
A SoulCollage� card with an image or two of a beloved pet, collaged with supporting images expressing what they meant to me or what lessons they taught me, is something tangible that I can hold in my hands, and press to my heart, as a way of connecting to all that was, still is, and always will be. Whether a pet card shows up randomly while I'm picking a card for the day, or whether I seek it out, it envelops my heart with the love my pet was, and all I learned from her comes flooding joyfully back.
Frankie taught me to open to who I authentically am and to let my inner light shine into the world. This wasn't easy for a shy person who worried about what others thought of her choices in life. Frankie has come to me in meditation, reminding me that even during moments of darkness and doubt, the light is always there.
Joie's gift in the short time she was with me didn't make itself known until after her passing. While I worked through the grief of trying to understand why she had to die so soon, I realized I was being called to understand that there are gifts in transitions, whether they begin with the death of an animal friend or from some other change in our lives.
I Am One Who could only stay a short time. My greatest gift to you was to leave my physical body so you could see that in transition, doors close and new ones open - each a portal to understanding yourself on an even deeper level.
The water paw print I sent you from the other side was my way of letting you know you are on the right path -- the one of living in more conscious awareness -- one of pausing often to listen to your inner voice and bringing that wisdom forth to share with others.
The card I created in honor of Joie reminds me that even with the pain of letting go of one chapter in my life, she helped me receive the gift of a simpler, slower-paced life. I had wanted this, but fear had kept me from moving into it on my own. When I see the Joie card, I still wish I could hold her, but I give thanks that she was a part of my life.
Grief comes in waves, striking unexpectedly. In those moments we have to be fully present with it, feel our way through it, and let it help us truly to know joy.
Author
Barbara Techel wrote
Through Frankie's Eyes, a memoir of how her paralyzed dachshund inspired her to listen to her inner voice, leading her to live a more meaningful life. In 2014 she became a SoulCollage� Facilitator, and has taught workshops on pet grief, understanding animals as spiritual guides, and connecting with our true nature.