Friends

I have been blessed with many friends in my life. I distinctly remember when I recognized my first friend. We were 4. In my overly-protected world I had only gone to relatives’ homes. It is impossible to express in words my excitement when I walked the long two blocks to her house. I was fascinated being in a new home with different people, things, rules and feelings. I was aware of the experience of “other”. During the time I spent there I could actually feel my world expand. I can’t explain how exactly—after all I was only 4 years old—but there was a sense that my world would never include just my family and it had a profound effect of me. I knew instinctually that friendship was something very powerful and special.

There was a small group of friends that went to school with me from kindergarten through high school in the tiny town where I grew up. When I think back on them I realize they gave me total acceptance, encouragement to be my best, support with my family during adolescence, and unconditional love. I depended on their steady, grounded, caring and wonder if I’d have survived my childhood without them?

College brought more friends into my life, as did my young adulthood. After living eight years in Upstate New York, I moved to Colorado just as I turned 25. This move challenged me to try to figure out how to maintain friendships long distance. This took an unbelievable amount of energy and work. At that time there weren't texts or email, which narrows the distance today. Then, it took phone calls, trips back and forth, letters and a lot of faith to keep  friendships alive and happy.

At the same time I was trying to maintain friends in Upstate I was joyously making many, many new friends in Boulder. The thirteen years I lived in Boulder were the most abundant for making friends in my life. I really appreciate now, after being away for over twenty year and returning to Colorado to live, what history in a friendship adds. As I re-acquaint myself with them I am having the astounding experience of realizing that I have known, cared about and loved many friends for over 30 years. It is this history that brings with it an extraordinary sense of continuity and consistency that I don’t have with any other aspect in my life.

I have been thinking a lot about friendship. I can honestly say that friendship is the most satisfying part of my life. Friends have helped me practice loving unconditionally, keeping clear boundaries, keeping my own council, trusting, sharing feelings, ideas and dreams and about accepting change. As I have grown in my relationship with myself and come to know myself better—I am better at being a good and healthy friend. Fortunately, I have friends who have also worked hard on themselves, which makes what can seem insurmountable with some people obsolete with my friends. Our friendships have developed over the years into a “safe haven”—a place I can “be” my true self.


The ultimate wonder about friendship and what is most enjoyable for me is the very fascination that I had with my first friend: the phenomena of having my world expand and change. This can include seeing things with a fuller view with fresh and different perspectives. There are times I feel things so deeply when I am with my friends I  experience my heart opening. I love when ideas are presented that spark the creative process and there is a mind-stretching sharing that happens that keeps building as though it will go on forever. And then there is the pure sweetness of being loved, nurtured and cared about with no conditions, judgments or expectations.

Yes. For me, friendship is the BEST! I have come to thrive on it, enjoy it, live for those times it grows. Just thinking about it makes me laugh right out loud. I feel absolutely, abundantly blessed. There is no doubt about it, with my friends is my favorite place to be.

Thanksgiving 2011

This year my Thanksgiving was an emotionally complicated Blessing. I spent it with my family: my brother, his wife and their son, my sister, her son/wife and 2 girls, and my son/wife and my granddaughter. We all went into the day knowing it would be challenging.

You see, in March, my niece Sybil (my brother's daughter) died from complications of childbirth. Her son, Jack, was spending Thanksgiving with his father's family in Florida.

In anticipation of the day and the obvious void Sybil's absence would create, we each tried to come up with a way to honor her. There were lengthy conversations that occurred between various family members. Candles, flowers, writing memories in a book to later give to Jack and speeches were all suggested but none of the ideas felt quite right.

Then my sister started scanning family photos from many generations that could run as a slide show before dinner on Thanksgiving. We all got very excited about her idea because it was about our family and shared experiences. Pictures of Sybil and other family members who had passed on were seen and talked about in the context of an event or something we had shared. It took us into the past while keeping us fully present with our feelings in the moment. Showing the photos was just right!

My sister said a few words before dinner--talking about our love for each other and about our terrible and tragic loss of Sybil. Even though she spoke briefly--there was not a dry eye. And, somehow, that too was just right.

Since Sybil's death in March, each of us has had our own individual grieving process which have been as different as our relationships with her were. After the initial shock of her death, we have had to make our way through the many emotions the grief has presented over and over again.

Thanksgiving was the first time our family shared our grieving collectively. Several things were different. For one thing, everyone was very present. There was great acceptance of each other's grief and lots of space for each person to be where they were. The day was full of compassion and deep love for each other.

The 3 babies who were there accentuated the fact that Jack was not. Trying to set up a Scype call with Jack and his father proved unsuccessful. I watched this add layers of different feelings for various people. I was mostly aware of my own sadness for my brother, his wife and their son and my anger at Jack's father for not realizing how important making contact was and for not making it a priority to happen.

My experience of Thanksgiving this year has moved me forward in my grieving process in ways I can feel but have no words for. I am deeply grateful for my family and feel huge love for them. I miss my niece and still have moments when I forget or don't believe she is not here. It will take a long time to come to terms with and accept her passing. I am just so proud of my family for having the courage to face reality together gently with total unconditional love.

Being a Grandmother

I'm going to be a Grandmother. My son and his wife are having a baby girl in March. I've never thought about what it would be like to be a Grandmother, but now I am getting excited!

My own grandmother (my mother's mother) was not very accessible. She was pretty shut down around us kids and never related one on one. Even when I worked alone with her in her gardens she didn't say much. She just mostly told me when I had done something wrong. She wasn't a very good model of what I imagined a Grandmother could be.

Her older sister, my great aunt Leonie, was much more what I wanted. She was always happy to see me and would drop everything to be with me. We would cook together, I would watch her wash her hair, we would peel apples to see how much we could keep together before breaking the chain, we sat on her porch swing and sang songs, we took little buckets of water and sat in her driveway washing little rocks and seeing them sparkle.

It didn't seem to matter if I was alone with her or if my other siblings or neighborhood kids were there. I still felt totally loved and accepted. When other kids were around we would put puzzles together, play solitaire, and when her cuckoo clock was about to chime we would all run in and watch the little people come out to tell the time.

My own mother was a wonderful Grandmother. She seemed to transform into another person around her grandchildren. While she was a difficult and complicated Mother, she was fun, connected and mesmerizing as a Grandmother. Her grandchildren adored her until her untimely death when the oldest grandchild was 7.

I have been watching my sister closely with her 2 year old granddaughter. She is great with her. She has the patience of a saint, gets down and plays, snuggles while reading books and generally is so loving it's awesome to be around.

All my friends who have grandchildren say it is the BEST! The love for their grand babies seems to be totally unconditional. They say you don't discipline them the same way you did your own children because it isn't your job. You can just love and enjoy the kids. And then, there is always that knowing that they will be going home to their own parents.

I don't know how I'll do as a Grandmother. I don't live in the vicinity of my son, so that makes it more difficult to be a constant in his child's life. I want to be everything all of my good models have shown me. I want to be loving, fun, steady and dependable, delighted, present and compassionate. I think those things will just come naturally as it is how I feel.

I cannot express my joy at becoming a Grandmother. I think I can make a good one. I know as each month passes and it gets closer and closer to the birth, my excitement grows. I cannot wait to hold her and watch my son and his wife as parents. They are going to be great parents. I want to be a wonderful Grandmother. The odds are good.

Death Of My Friend

Champion Arty Come Lately
April 24, 1994 - April 2, 2009

After Abracadabra died Mid-November, Ladybug seemed to skip over grief and never turned back to miss her sister. She hung out contentedly with Arty--through his failing health, as he visibly weakened daily from not eating. She didn't seem to notice when he couldn't walk anymore.

Earlier that day I had called the veterinarian to bring Arty in to put him down to sleep. "You'll have to wait until tomorrow morning at 7:45", met my request. I knew, with only a Mother's knowing, that the time was NOW and tomorrow would be too late. As it turned out it was not only too late but too long.

Mid-afternoon, I came around the corner of the bedroom and found Arty sprawled on the floor with each of his feet going in one of the four directions. He had taken his last steps. I gently lifted him and laid him in his dog bed. Shortly after, as I lay on the floor, rolled on my side petting him, he had his first convulsion.

I immediately jumped into "HELP" mode, totally ignoring my feelings of inadequacy and my ignorance of what to do. The convulsions were mild at first, although I didn't know that at the time. It was only later, after I had stayed up with him all night, I realized that those early ones had been mild.

Arty had my heart. He was the "most beautiful dog I have ever seen", my sister would say. I leaned that way in my own biased thinking. He had been my dear friend from the moment I first laid eyes on him and our friendship grew stronger each year of the twelve we spent together. We understood and respected each others' need for unconditional love. I don't feel he was ever once disappointed in my humanness and I felt deep pride in watching him become more and more of a dog. In his later years, he actually became a full-fledged canine and he was happy.

I can still see him running full-out across the wide green expanse of the park we frequented in our early years together. He was a picture of Grace. Balance. Joy. Even then, Hobbit's vision blurred and Arty stepped right in to guide her, even on their park runs. After a long-enough run he gently brought her back to me. He was by her side day and night and when she died, he sank into a deep grief that lasted a good four years. Her absence broke his heart.

It was when we moved across the country that he began come out of himself and notice his Tibbie sisters and me. The introverted perspective gave way to the world again and he began to enjoy life again. Like the sunshine part of the country we now call "home" he warmed up from the inside out. It was like having the old Arty back, new and better than ever.

I wonder, even now, if it was our strong attachment to each other that created our last awful night together so we could let go? It made the break clean. Necessary. Final. We acted out our entire relationship in that one last precious, tedious, nightmare night.

Ladybug, who I believe always thought wanted to be an only dog, mirrors my grieving now. I see it in her eyes and in her wandering aimlessly through the house looking for something that is no longer here. Arty's absence is more difficult that his death was, for me. So, we wait for our hearts to heal, knowing another Tibetan Spaniel is waiting for us to be swooped up into our lives. Into our hearts. Into our forever home.

LESSONS OF LOVE

I love my pets! The steadfast quality of these relationships shared day after day through the years has taught me more about love and compassion than anything else in my life. The gentle consistency of the steady, unconditional company makes being with my pets a continual Celebration of Life.

A friend of mine told me a story that speaks to my own experience. Parents of a little boy decided it would be best for the child if he went with them to the veterinarian to put his dog to sleep. Afterward, the boy seemed to be not as upset as his parents had anticipated. When asked about this he said, “I understand that dogs don’t live very long because they already know what people need to learn”.

When I think about it, I cannot even begin to list all the positive things pets have taught me. Under their guidance I have learned to trust, open my heart, care for and protect, cherish tenderness, and allow myself to be endlessly delighted and entertained. Loving people, while enormously educational on my life journey, has contained complications, disappointments, conditions, and ups and downs along with closeness, intimacy and happiness.

The love I share with my pets touches in me the deepest purest experience of unconditional love, without any confusion or struggle. No matter what kind of day I am having, they wait patiently, ready to connect, love and be loved. Our commitment to each other is invincible. I love them and they love me. Loving them is natural, straightforward, and simple.

I feel like an apprentice when the Universe brings me exactly the perfect dog, cat, (or person), to further assist and support whatever part of my life I need to master at that particular junction. When my mother and several other close family members were dying, a cat named Studebaker Hawk came into my life. He was a big, gentle Tom who would hang around with me until I felt comfortably attached in a safety-blanket kind of way. Just when I reached a secure level of trust, he would leave and stay away. The first time he was only gone a day. As time went on, his absences would last longer and longer. Like clockwork, at the very moment I came to terms with his not coming back--he would show up. In hindsight, I can see that he was teaching me about letting go. At the time, I experienced his lessons as inflicting more pain by amplifying my already agonizing process.

After all those people passed on I was submerged in grief. I got a Basset Hound that I named Tristum. The symbolism was clearly obvious even at the time. Tristum personified and embodied the grief that was too enormous and painful for me to carry alone. His being with me allowed me to project onto him my inner feelings of sadness and depression that I could not allow myself to feel or show. He accompanied me through some rough times.

When Tristum died, I was left alone to bear my anguish. I had to take back all of my grief projections and own my feelings. I pulled myself into a tight little cocoon. In my abandoned state I swore adamantly that "I would never have another pet". I lived this way, pet less, for almost 18 months. One afternoon I heard a knock at the door. When I opened it, there stood my son (18 months old) and my niece (11 years old). They were both bundled up for winter and the joy in their big brown eyes pierced my soul. They proudly held out an 8 week old puppy to me that they had gotten from someone at the Mall. Dumbfounded, I recoiled and burst into tears. "I can't! I can't!" is all I can remember saying. Then my son, in his tiny voice tenderly said, "But Mommy, his name is Happy Dog". How could I argue with the cosmic sense of humor of the Universe? I kept the dog.

I have a much better grasp now of allowing pets help me with my life lessons than I did when I was younger. The challenge recently presented to me is how to consciously accompany my pets through illness and their passing on. Within the last 6 months, I was told that two of my three dogs were terminally ill. My world felt as if it had been turned upside down. I could not talk about it at first because grief took me too deeply inside myself. It triggered memories of all the people and pets I had lost before. My mind raced to try to remember how I had gotten through the other times I had been faced with this situation.

I remembered Elisabeth Kuebler-Ross encouraging me to practice "letting go" of little insignificant things every day as a way of dealing with bigger griefs when they occur. An important and unexpected memory about letting go popped into my mind. It had happened during a time when I was a young adult, grieving the loss of a relationship, dealing with disappointment about my dreams for the future and struggling with redefining myself without all the things in my life I had lost. One evening I heard my son, who was almost 3 at the time, go into the bathroom. Flushing the toilet, he raced out the door and ran down the stairs where the pipes were, screaming with sheer delight, “Goodbye, Goodbye”.

When I got the news that one of my dogs and shortly after the other were dying, I felt as though I could not bear the pain. Needing to reach out for support with my anguish I called a friend. I just kept asking, “What shall I do?” With great compassion he said, “Make happy memories”. It seemed almost too simple. After several weeks of being in shock, the wisdom of the words "make happy memories" turned into a full-blown unexpected spiritual experience.

I was sitting outside with my dogs. The sun was shining on us and I was lost in dark thoughts of sadness, grief and impending loss. Suddenly, I was suspended in a moment of timelessness. In that moment, there was no past or future, no fear, no loss. Everything that had ever happened in my life, everyone I had ever loved, all pain, all joy, EVERYTHING was there. All my life was occurring in that moment. I could feel everyone I had ever loved. Even those who had crossed over felt like they were there. My senses were in such a heightened state of expansion that I felt the energy of my dogs snuggling against me as if we were one.

In that moment, I realized that loss had provided me over and over with the experience of separation. This experience made me see the world from the perspective of constantly being disconnected from others and things in my life without any choice or control. The feelings of angst, fear and despair that came from the illusion of being disconnected, kept me from being connected with my soul self and made me forget who I truly am. In this expanded moment of remembering and reconnecting with myself, the illusion of separation dissolved and was replaced with an awareness of Oneness.

In that moment I felt a new respect for death and loss. They have provided me with core spiritual lessons and given me the opportunity to remember and reconnect with myself. Reconnecting allows me to know what is really important in my life. Feeling connected with my pets was a safe way to form strong attachments. Loving them and the experience of separation (or fear of it) that ensued was my life lesson. Finding the meaning of the experience has shown me the way back to loving myself. Actually, it has expanded my love of everything and everyone. Life is vulnerable and precious. Being in every moment in Oneness enlivens the witnessing of being present and creates gratitude, deeper meaning and joy. That is what produces happy memories.

Ever since that day when "the moment" changed my life, the relationship with my dogs has grown sweeter. I feel more relaxed and open and have more appreciation for our love. I have new and heartfelt respect for myself and how much and how well I love. There is a certain peace in my life now.

In the experience of Oneness, I know the death of my dogs cannot possibly separate our souls.
When their time comes, I know I will not really loose them or their love. That is simply not something that can ever be taken away. Even though I know I will miss their physical presence and our day-to-day rituals, now I imagine them running joyfully through Meadowland with Hobbit, Little Dog, Tristum, Studebaker Hawk, Rose Hips, Mitzy, Happy Dog, Picalily and all the other animal loves of my life. Thinking about that makes me smile. I love the mysteries of life. I love loving. I love my pets.