Til Death Do Us Part

Never in a million years did I see this coming. Sounds familiar? Yeah, there are always hidden forces in the body, mind, and spirit.

Thursday of last week, she stopped eating. On Friday, she continued to fast and refused any food. Her energy was shallow. Things gradually and steadily intensified as the day progressed and it got closer to the evening.

What ensued during the night was unlike anything I had previously witnessed with any of my dying animals. I helplessly watched my little girl dog go into convulsions, ongoing retching, gagging, and vomiting. She threw up so much mucus over just a few hours — mind you, she weighed only seven pounds — that I ended up using pretty much all of my towels, linens, and bed sheets because everything, including my sofa, became covered with mucus from her vomit. I also found some blood clots.

Of course, I wanted to take her to the emergency room, and I attempted to do so at three o’clock in the morning and was advised to give her body a rest. Long story short, this made a lot of sense — you don’t need to agree with me here — and we all took a few moments of rest, even Meelah. By the time I took Meelah to the animal hospital after daylight had emerged, she was already actively dying.

She passed away less than forty-eight hours after the acute symptoms had begun.

Yes, in previous weeks, I noticed subtle yet concerning things. I put it on my list of observations for our next veterinary visit, which was planned for this week as I sit here writing this. I can tell you that this was the most unexpected, sudden, and painful experience I have had with any animal that I accompanied and loved until they took their last breath.

Was I in shock? You better believe it. My nervous system was fried, and my nervous system is still fried as I am writing this.

A lot of people were supportive and helpful. I am so grateful for that. Some tried to make spiritual sense of the event, such as, “It was her choice. Her soul wanted to leave.” True. Assumptions and educated guesses were made regarding which illness could have been present and what interventions could have been entertained. All of this made sense.

Most of it did not help me in these moments of great despair. Why? Were the people surrounding me wrong? No, they weren’t. They were loving and kind. I am lucky to call them my friends. That said, I did not need the spiritual mumbo jumbo. It was a burden.

What I needed was to experience my raw heartache, the seemingly unbearable pain of witnessing my dog go through this — without analyzing anything. I needed to put one foot in front of the other since things were changing from minute to minute. I tended to her. Skillfully. I needed to make sure that I could function well enough to drive my car to the emergency hospital. I needed to ensure I could feed my other animals, take my other dog out to pee and be present.

Was I in a normal state of consciousness? Absolutely not. Was my nervous system in a heightened state of stress? Yup.

I have an ongoing connection with all the animals I accompanied in their transition. Spiritually, I feel them. Always. With Meelah, I experienced the feeling of loss, of falling off a cliff. Her heartbeat stopped when I was pulling into the parking lot of the emergency clinic. My brain wasn’t able to process the fact that she was breathing one moment and a dead body a moment later.

What have I done to integrate this experience? I have permitted myself to go to all of the places in my mind and in my heart that arose since — the insurmountable grief, not having it together, not being able to sleep restfully, to name just a few things. I googled illnesses. I re-lived all of the horrifying moments of that fateful night when Meelah prepared for her death. I asked all of the “What if” questions, such as, “ Could I have saved her? Could I have supported her life force?” I did not — I repeat — I did not beat myself up. I didn’t put pressure on myself to make sense of Meelah’s death or have some enlightened, spiritual conclusions or anything of that nature. Maybe later.

I have been doting on my surviving dog, Pablo. They were mates for six years. Luckily, he is stable and not depressed, to my great relief.

What have I discovered so far? Where am I with my consciousness right now? I have a vague sense of the divine nature, of the intangible wisdom of this experience, which my intellect doesn’t understand. Meelah created space for expansion, allowing me to go further into the unknown and into the realms of the soul that are not describable. It takes courage.

There will be more revelations as time goes on. For now, I tend to my heart and soul, one breath at a time, one teardrop at a time. I play with Pablo. I talk to Meelah at her grave, which is in my backyard. I speak to her out loud in my house when I am alone.

I miss you, Meelah, my sweet firecracker party girl. I love you, Meelah. Infinitely. Always.