Physician Healer

Issue 11 Grief

Grief

By the time I release this article for publication, it would have been one day shy of a week since we had to euthanize one of our beloved pets (this issue is being written today, Monday, 4/26, 2 days after Sammie’s transition over the rainbow bridge). He wasn’t even that old—just 12 years old. At least in my book, he was still a teenager. I called him that in the last 6 months, acutely aware that he had years behind him now when I did a quick calculation in my head. I used to playfully ask Sammie,

“Are you still my teenager, Sam-Sam?”

I asked him for the last time on his day of release. And, as always, he’d look at me, let out a gentle “mew”and blink a few times knowingly, as if to say he would always be my teenager forever. Like a ritual, he would then reach out with his expanded, tufted paw to touch my arm, and then his face would meet mine as he would then spend minutes rubbing my face affectionately before giving me the top of his head. He always looked forward to the gentle kisses on top of his smooth head. We named him Sammie after Sammy Davis, Jr. He held a special place in our hearts.

From the start, Sammie was a gift from the universe. Our guesstimate is that he was about 3 months old when he joined our family. He was born somewhere in our neighborhood and used to come to our backyard to eat. He was part of a litter of 4. In time, one disappeared and then we adopted out 2 of his sisters both grey and white. Sammie, however looked exactly like a Maine Coon. We never saw who the mom was or what she looked like. One day, he kept rubbing against my husband’s legs and so he bent down, picked him up and brought him inside the house. He became one of the family.

He was healthy from the beginning and received regular vet checks. Watching Sammie always strut his own brand of robust grandeur with his plume tail held high and seeing him now lose a bit of that each day for the past few weeks proved to be challenging. At first, his tongue involuntarily protruded and trembled along with his mouth whenever he ate. Eventually, he visited the water bowl less and less as he developed an aversion to water.

As a physician, I knew it was likely a combination of neurological, cardiac, and kidney disease, as well; and due to his age as a Maine Coon, I also knew that this particular breed tended to have shorter lifespans. We had hoped that given the possibility that he was unlikely purebred, he would somehow escape that fate. Then, he stopped eating his favorite foods and gradually, he barely licked any of his meals. Still loving and affectionate, he carried on as such, taking longer naps each day but ready to trot over to greet us whenever we walked through the door. Eventually, in the last several days, he stopped drinking water completely and using the bathroom altogether.

This was not our first rodeo in managing pet illnesses in cats and dogs. Over the decades, we’ve given IV fluids, IV medications, administered pills, given twice a day injections, and even performed enemas to keep our pets going. In the past, despite suspecting that the inevitable sordid outcome of aggressive veterinarian work up at end-stage life would be death anyway, we did unknowingly subject many of our pets through all of that well-meaning torture. Soon, we realized that forcing our pets to suffer their last days instead of enjoying their company in comfort and letting them feel your love for the last time peacefully, was not the way. (This is not meant as advice but to share my opinion and story).

And, you’d think it gets easier every time with a different pet; trust me—it does not. Once we decided it was time to move forward with the euthanasia, the challenge was finding an available vet. Due to the lingering COVID restrictions, the majority of the clinics were closed or did not pick up the phone. Some of the voicemail boxes were even too full to accept new messages. Fortunately, a good friend came through with a name. She provided in-home hospice care services, which served to relieve stress of transportation to a strange place and Sammie could be comfortable at home with all of us.

I decided to share this particular event because like all the ones before him, I struggled with accepting Sammie’s death. Truth be told, I struggle with accepting death period. One personal reason why I am deeply involved in the practice of meditation is that it is integral to my personal growth, and in the core of that growth is my desire to cultivate increased awareness of the present moment and to fully release my attachment to all things. Spiritual literature talks about the ability to “surrender” to what-is, which is everything our 5 senses pick up every second of everyday and to accept that events do not happen to us or for us.

Events “just happen.” Our job is to learn to accept everything as part of the terrain of our life’s journey. It is not easy to live this way, so it requires practice. However, I felt that despite all the conscious awareness tools I had in my bag, they seemed to be just out of reach. The typical egoic mental chatter flooded my mind,

”Why now? Why did he only have 12 years? This is terrible. Are we sure? How are we going to deal with this loss? He’s too young. Is there something more we can do?”

These were the same questions we asked ourselves all the other times before. But, what about all those methods I learned about being in the present moment and to release attachment? Why are they not working? What am I doing wrong? I discovered that the most difficult time is the waiting and the knowing “before.” And then, you second guess yourself asking if this is the right time, the right decision, or do we wait despite what the heart is telling you.

The egoic bodyguard of the mind is incredibly powerful and persuasive in messing with you, choosing the most vulnerable moments to create doubt and fear within you and reminding you of your not-enough-ness. However, if we question the noise, question who is really talking upstairs, then we get clear and can rise above the illusionary noise more often than not. Trust that your heart is never lost and always knows the right answer.

In our deepest, darkest, most intimate struggles, despite all the egoic questions and all the doubts, we can choose to open up our heart space and let it come through for us. I wrestled with what felt like impending doom and thoughts of forever absence of Sammie. At that moment I focused on my choice. I still had a choice. The realization of that was important. I could let him drag out his illness a few more days of barely struggling to eat and drinking no water other than what I was squirting into his mouth with a tiny syringe; or, let him go because I loved him more than fulfilling my selfish desire to have him hang around for my pleasure.

Dealing with Sammie’s eventual absence seemed a hair easier to tolerate than the 24 hours leading up to his death. Death is mind blowing. One moment he is alive, looks at you like you’re the best thing since tasty kibble, understands you, feels you, loves you unconditionally and the next, he is simply gone, and no longer sees you, or responds to your voice. It feels like my guts have been hollowed out.

While a small burial site was being prepared next to the lemon tree, I sat in the house with Sammie wrapped in his favorite Peppa Pig blanket; but I was excitedly told that a beautiful Monarch butterfly hovered close by and lingered for a time. We have not had any butterflies in the yard for at least the last few months. Later that evening, a random duck landed on the street in front of the house and walked up to my husband in the driveway a few feet away, looked at him, quacked, pecked at the ground and then flew away.

Some believe in the existence of unexplainable spiritual events; I can’t say with certainty if these were signs that Sammie was letting us know he was ok and had found Ned, our big white dog who passed a little over a year ago or any of the others who had transitioned before him. I’d like to think those were messages. As for me, I haven’t experienced anything out of the ordinary regarding Sammie—yet.

In brief, Ned, our first and only 120 lb dog rescued from outside our office back door was probably the hardest death we faced as far as pets go. We nursed him back to health after he was dumped outside our office at 6 months of age infected with Parvovirus. He ended up living 12 and a half years with us. We called him a miracle dog. People said he was lucky that we found him, but I’ve always believed it was the other way around.

Whether it is the death of a pet or person, any loss is felt profoundly. Maybe it is because we are reminded of our own mortality. Maybe it is unresolved guilt. Maybe we regret how we could have done more when they were alive. Whatever the case is, at the moment of transition, you realize at that instant how short and fragile life really is—for all of us. It prompted in me thoughts about all the early years as we try to remember hallmarks of quality time we spent with our loved ones.

As for me, I came up short. I felt there were not enough times. We were either too busy at work or too busy being busy. I felt Ned, Sammie, and all the others received only the leftover scraps of time we gave them. Any death around us reminds us of our own finite timeline and that of loved ones still living. Death is a reminder of the importance of being present and attentive to those we love who are right here, now, whether they be pets or people. Death is always a valuable lesson in the importance of forgiveness, of self and of others.

Turning death into positive, constructive wisdom is challenging but possible and necessary. It insures that we make appropriate changes in our lives from the lessons learned and to move forward stronger than we were. Each time I have had to deal with death, I have learned to be more intentional with my time and to give the gift of my complete attention to those I love most. Even when death is near and at times planned, I can’t avoid sadness creeping in, for what will inevitably come.

However, I can choose to change the mindset and become aware of the present, thankful and appreciative of the fact that my loved one is still alive, right here, right now. And once they are gone, I ask myself if I would prefer they live on suffering or be relieved of this life so they are no longer suffering? Could I even be happy with their absence? Do I have a choice?

We always have a choice but we control nothing. These are not easy concepts upon which to reflect. There is no right or wrong answer. The bottom line is that although we really have little control over death, we can use each event as a wake up call to give the gift of our love in the form of time and attention to those who are still with us and rejoice the times we had with those who’ve passed on and accept that what we were able to offer was the best we could do.

I try to remember everyday to live with purpose and that the past is in the past—I can change nothing here. Some days are better than others. But, I can make changes right now in the present time. Every person, every pet, every event is a learning experience. As I impressed upon you in last week’s issue, nothing is good or bad except how our egos have labeled and categorized things. On the other hand, the valuable lessons we come away with cannot be taught any other way. The universe is not trying to do us in. It is trying to teach us to understand life and embrace the strength of love. It is to live everyday as if it were your last.

Robin Sharma states that the number one sentiment shared by individuals on their deathbeds is regret—regret that they didn’t spend enough quality time with their family and friends or to see and do the things they really wanted to do or take better care of their health, because they were too busy chasing after the title or the money or the car, or other material items, or that they “chose” to be stuck in a high-paying job that robbed them of their health evident by the number of prescription drugs they had been on. At the end when you’re dying, you suddenly realize that the obsession of stuff, materialism, can’t buy you more time. On the other hand, money has been defined by many as a form of energy currency that can be used for good but never to replace what really matters—our connection with our authenticity and with those we love.

As I write this now, I am going into day 3 post Sammie’s death, I am mindful of the mental chatter telling me to remain sad, to regret something I could’ve done more of or better, or whatever agenda the ego is trying to push. I just know that none of that is true. I create suffering through believing the mental chatter. Change it, and my suffering ends. These days more than ever, I’m journaling my gratitudes and wins, and documenting my next steps to facilitate the changes I wish to experience in the near future. I am thankful that Sammie came into our lives and gave us the gift of his attention and love. And, that goes for all the others before him.

I believe everything that happens, including death, serves a purpose of teaching us lessons. We feel depressed and cry because we have told ourselves the story of death being a terrible thing. And, generally it is accepted as such. However, many cultures view death as a time to celebrate and rejoice, so instead of sadness, there is happiness. As we continue to dive deeper, the meaning of life is the same as that of death—life is short but also precious and abundant. Surrender is about “letting” not chasing. It’s about understanding and knowing about the deepest truths regarding our life’s purpose and choosing to exercise forgiveness freely. Be attentive to those who are still living. Death is not about promoting despair, rather it is about reflecting and re-prioritizing your life’s focus.

One last note—the night before Sammie crossed over, we let him explore the outside as I watched him come alive. He was like how he was years ago, a different animal, renewed and full of energy. He climbed 3 trees, sniffed the grass, every leaf and branch and squirmed in the dirt and concrete as if he were trying to absorb everything around him. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought we were mistaken and that there was nothing wrong with him at all. But, of course, once he was done exploring and came back into the house, there was no mistake. He reminds us to schedule time to be with nature everyday as often as we can. Scientific research has shown the significant connection between immersing ourselves in nature and its benefit to our overall health in terms of increasing not just our resilience and longevity but facilitates reverse aging.

Addendum: I am adding some last words for today, Friday, the 30th. Today is 6 days after Sammie’s passing. Of course, I still miss him. During this past week, I paid attention to the mental chatter, to the not-so-eloquent ranting and raving of the egoic mind, that everything had changed, that things wouldn’t be the same, that the usual places he loved would no longer be graced by his presence, and that the house would be noticeably empty without him.

What can I say? They were all true. As long as I avoided giving out labels, I didn’t feel devastated. I didn’t suffer. I paid attention to each present moment and reminded myself that to accept the new paradigm of living without Sammie is “death to the ego.” The ego tries to keep me in the same smallness of my story. I found myself feeling deep gratitude for the years I did have, for all the things that gave me peace, and for looking forward to seeing what will unfold for me now in my continued evolution.

Begin today, if you haven’t already, love more and dial in on gratitude and forgiveness. Remember that life is indeed short in the whole scheme of things. There is a saying that I’ve heard repeated by many and it goes something like this,

”Live your life in such a way that the day you came into this world you cried, but the day you left, the world cried.”

Transformational Tasks:

1) Journal 10 gratitudes every morning and read them at night before bedtime

2) What one thing can you change and do better that will level up your A game?

3) Write down your dreams

4) Whatever you intend to include as “bad” write down what next step you can take to change it

5) Remember hydration, nutrition, exercise and meditation

6) Question all “negatively-labeled” thoughts that bring on fear and worry and ask yourself if any of it is even true; release these emotions and find the lessons you are supposed to learn

7) Write in your journal anything that served to upset you recently or in the remote past and how you can change your perception and interpretation of the events to give new meaning.

8) Remember to sit in meditation for at least an hour or more each day. It is not about clearing the mind or about finding peace and relaxation. It is about allowing the internal noise and clutter to release themselves.

Thank you for reading and allowing me to share my grief and loss. Remember to share with family and friends if you found this issue to be meaningful. Let me know in the comments if you have questions. For more information check out www.DesertMeridian.com or www.Amayamedical.com.

Until next week, keep learning and growing!

Celeste Amaya, MD

Sammie 2015

Ned (Neddie) 2017