Blessing The Bridge

Blessing the Bridge: What Animals Teach Us About Death, Dying and Beyond

Cover

Word From the Other Side

Chapter One Creating a Sanctuary

In the midst of a routine day I gathered my dog, Oliver, into my arms, and held his soft, small body close to mine There is a strong possibility, I explained, that the cancer growing inside you will eventually cause us to be separated from each other. As the word separated left my mouth, his face rose to mine. Although blind, his eyes danced, shining with life. I sensed that he was seeing on another level, within and through me. You will change worlds and I will have to remain behind, but I will always love you. Oliver turned his head downward as my words and tears cascaded over him. A knowing flowed between Oliver and me that in truth we could never be separated, and that everything was perfect, even the cancer.

But I had not always felt so. When I had heard the diagnosis three months earlier, I had immediately made Oliver's cancer an enemy. That cancer was the monster that would tear my dear friend of eight years away from me. Later, in a reflective moment I realized that by declaring war on the cancer, I was making all of Oliver's cells the whole basic structure of his body my enemy as well. From that moment, rather than cursing his cells, I began loving and blessing them, even the cancerous ones, hoping this approach would cure him.

But what if he died anyway? I asked myself in doubtful moments. Would I have accomplished anything at all, or wasted energy, time, and emotion? Was I entrapping myself in false hope, blind faith, and utter stupidity? I wondered if I was setting myself up for a hard and terrible disappointment.

Oliver's tumor was in his bladder. The medical prognosis was that the cancer would not respond to surgery, chemotherapy, or radiation. After introspection and prayer, I decided to begin my own integrative therapy for Oliver. My intuition, always my best guide, directed me to use sound and music therapy, color and light, supportive nutrition, and the prayer support of friends and family. At the same time, I also realized that it might just be Oliver's time to go.

As we proceeded with these alternative healing methods, I began to realize that everything I was doing for Oliver was appropriate for possibly curing his physical condition, while at the same time helping him through his dying if that would be the outcome. I was no longer attempting a cure-or-nothing approach, which would imply success versus failure or winning versus losing. I had ended my battle against the cancer.

No longer was this therapy focused on my little dog alone. Now, Oliver and I were moving in tandem through a mutual and inter-supportive healing on infinite levels. As with so many of the animals who had been in my care, I was once again learning when and how to let Oliver go, making sure I did so with unconditional love, grace, and peace.

We walked through our healing, step by step. Nothing long range. I felt compelled to give up all my goals, including healing him. My job was simply to offer Oliver my full participation and accept each moment as perfect, no matter what was going on. It was easier for Oliver, he had no expectations. But I also knew Oliver and I were not alone. There was a boundless, pure spirit that led us with love. Oliver shone with that love.

But when finally faced with the certainty of Oliver's impending death, I once again struggled with my emotional attachment and inevitable sense of failure. I questioned everything. Was the pain I saw cross his face only momentary? Would it pass, and then we would still have more time together? Or was it his way of asking for compassionate release? I could not decide, so I turned within and prayed for help. The guidance came and I knew Oliver was ready to leave.

The day before Oliver died, he laid his head on my foot as I wrote down my thoughts about him. He communicated to me, Don't begin missing me yet. Share this moment with me, everything is as it is meant to be. And if you let me, I will guide you for all the moments to come.

I will, I responded, out loud, knowing he was pleased. And so Oliver's life on Earth ended well. My friend and teacher joined me in this lifetime as a honey-colored terrier named Oliver. Through his living and dying, he taught me there is no such thing as life versus death, or success versus failure. Love given and received, moment by moment, is all that really matters.

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