Day Five of Remembering

Animals do not see death as an end, but as part of the journey.

According to astronomy, the stars we see in the night sky are all dead. It is merely the light-energy of their dying that we see as it travels across space. “We are all just energy,” said my gray-haired astronomy professor so many years ago, “And energy never dies. It just transforms. Energy is always moving.”

Example One:

I came home one day to find Dezi, our neighbor’s dog, sitting on our porch next to his water dish and a bag of dog food. A long story unfolds from this moment, but briefly, Dezi’s owner committed suicide and before he took his own life, he had the clarity to know who would look after his beloved dog. We were both saddened and honored; distraught but willing. 

The next few weeks were an adjustment for all of us. Dezi slept in a tiny ball at the end of our bed, taking up as little space as possible. He waited on the couch, scrunched into a corner, his eyes fixed on the door. Afraid to walk on the hardwood floors, he scurried from one rug to the next and waited outside the kitchen (all hardwood) for his meals. He rarely looked at us, unless food was involved, keeping his gaze at something distant beyond us. 

One day we headed out on a walk — Dezi and his new brother, Rubin — making our way down the street toward the park.

At one part on this walk, we had a choice: Go right and head to the park or go left towards Dezi’s old house. Dezi had lived with us for about a month at this point and we had taken this walk numerous times. He never hesitated, just followed as we turned right, trotting along next to Rubin. 

But on this one day, Dezi stopped at this junction between right and left, and looked me straight in the eye. “Dezi, what’s wrong?” I asked and clear as if he’d opened his mouth and spoke the words, I heard him say, “He’s never coming back, is he?” 

I crumpled to my knees, held Dezi’s head in my hands, and sighed. “Oh dear boy,” I told him, “No, he is never coming back.” And with those words, Dezi turned right and kept walking to the park. The next day, he refused to eat and within hours, was vomiting and having bloody diarrhea. We raced him to the vet where he was diagnosed with severe pancreatitis and irritable bowel syndrome. 

He felt the absence of his owner’s energy, asked for validation, and in receiving it, hurtled headlong into a month’s long bout of grief. We nursed him back to health slowly, fearing we would lose him, but as he gained more strength, he transformed into a new dog. He relaxed on the couch, his long body stretched out across the three cushions, boldly walked across the hardwoods sitting by my side while I made his meals, and looked at us with what can only be described as love and devotion. We are all just energy. Energy never dies, it just changes. 

Example Two: 

The afternoon my mother died, I had made the decision not to visit her in hospice. I’d been going almost daily, making the hour drive there and the hour drive back to sit with her, play music for her, hold her hand, and reassure her as best I could. My brother came up weekly from Oregon and friends helped fill in times when we could only be with her for a short period, but after two months of traveling back and forth and organizing her care with my brother, I needed a break. So I decided I would stay home on Tuesday that week and resume my visits on Wednesday. 

I tried not to feel guilty and the fact that my niece and nephew were driving up from Oregon to be with her that Tuesday, eased my guilt. Most of that day I took care of household chores that had fallen mostly to my partner, walked with our dogs, read a bit, and in the afternoon, I laid down for a nap. 

In between that space of sleep and not sleep, I had a vision of my mother, rising from her hospital bed, coming toward me to give me a hug. Her arms were outstretched, she was motioning for me to come closer, and I stood stunned. I said to her, “Wait, you can’t use your left side. What are you doing?” But she just kept motioning for me to come closer for an embrace and when I did, I could feel her arms around me and smell her warm, familiar scent.

I woke with a gasp and a few minutes later, while I was processing what had just happened, Ann walked through the door. I hesitated to tell her what I had dreamt, but I slowly explained it, knowing it was somehow significant. Twenty minutes later, my niece contacted me to let me know my mother had passed.

Energy never dies, it just transforms.

Example Three:

In the weeks before my mother suffered her stroke, I was seeing the number 11:11 constantly. For my work, I drive a lot and when I’d look at the clock to check the time, 11:11 would often pop up. During my drives I listen to podcasts and audio books and I often check the time left on an episode or chapter on the display in my car. Over and over again 11:11 would show up — on my watch, one time as an expiration date on a jug of milk, and often in the car when I was driving.

Then my mother had a stroke, was moved to a nursing facility, and two months later died. Throughout that time, 11:11 was everywhere. And even after she died, 11:11 was an almost daily occurrence in one form or another. Yes, I saw it as a sign that my mother was near and in an odd way, reassuring me. 

I talked with my friend who is a firm believer in the supernatural. “11:11 is when the veil between this world and the next is the thinnest,” she said, “And your spirit guide is communicating with you.”

“Spirit guide? I don’t have a spirit guide!” I protested. 

“Oh silly” she said,  “It’s your mother!”

Now, every time it happens, I smile, tell my mother I love and miss her, and move on with my day, feeling a warm glow that even though she is physically gone, she is still with me.

After Rubin passed, the number changed to 12:12. I still see 11:11 on occasion, but more and more it has become 12:12. At first I didn’t think it meant anything, but then I realized it was happening too much and often happening when I was thinking about Rubin and how much I missed him. Now, when 12:12 shows up, I smile, tell Rubin I love and miss him, and move on with my day, feeling a warm glow. 

He claimed 12:12, I believe, because he knew my mom had claimed 11:11. Energy is always moving. You can call me ridiculous and perhaps I am, but after all the events of the past month — my mother’s passing, my beloved dog passing — I am more firmly rooted in this idea that we are all just energy and it never dies. It never goes away; it just keeps moving, changing, transforming. 

Animals understand this better than I ever will, that they are a part of something greater than just their individual selves. They are not religious, bound to a god or a spiritual practice. Rather they see the enormity of what they are connected to. I am not a religious person, I do not believe in god or heaven, but I do believe there is something bigger than the things we see, the things we can know with our conscious mind. The best description I can come up with is that everything around us — what we can and cannot see — is energy and it’s all connected. 

And energy never dies, it just goes on a journey that sometimes we are fortunate enough to witness and feel.