Oh my, where to begin? How about right here, right now. I’m sitting in a swing, you know that old fashioned wood slat kind, on a porch outside a cabin deep in the woods of Weaverville, North Carolina. I can hear the roar of the creek behind me and feel the sun on my back. A bird is perched on a branch next to me, and I can sense the spirit of my beloved cat, Sadie, lying in my lap.

She and I just completed our road trip across the country. We took our time, stopping along the way to visit my favorite spa in Desert Hot Springs and a dear friend in Sedona. We stayed in nine different places, and we had one more to go before we could settle in for a while.

And then yesterday, having completed her mission – to escort me to my new life – she transitioned. My heart is shattered, and at the same time, I am filled with joy.

This adventure has been brought many blessings.

There was the ‘outer’ experience of driving from west to east: I saw the landscape change from dry, barren desert to expansive plains to the lush intimacy of multi-colored trees forming a canopy over the highway. I met people, not like me – folks from the Bible Belt, truck drivers, gas station attendants, maids in hotel rooms, many people who may not agree with my way of thinking or living. Wherever I landed was welcomed with kindness and generosity.

There was a deeper internal experience:  I felt my whole nervous system begin to unwind and shed years of accumulated tensions from living in LA. As we crossed over the Continental Divide, I started to feel like I was coming home. There was a sense of being welcomed and embraced.

Most importantly, this trip was about deep intimate connection with a precious being.

Sadie entered my life shortly after I moved to LA in 2000. She was my companion and protector right from the start. When I could have died from a head injury, she woke me up so I could call 911. She was a fearless climber of trees, friend of squirrels, and explorer of our neighborhood. She also weathered many health challenges, and almost died on several occasions.

When she was five, I brought home a new kitty, Meeka, mistakenly thinking she wanted a playmate. Though furious that I didn’t consult her first, she gradually surrendered to not being the only child, and adopted him as her little, albeit sometimes pesky, brother.  She took on the role of being the protector of both of us. When Meeka unexpectedly became ill three months before our move, she loved and guided him through his transition.

Then she escorted me to my new life in North Carolina.

Though Sadie was 19 and suffering from kidney failure, auto-immune issues, and arthritis in all her limbs, she absolutely insisted on making this trek with me. So on September 28, I tucked her into the passenger seat of my Subaru, and with the spirit of Meeka encircling us, we headed east.

In a time when uncertainty is the only constant, this road trip was a perfect expression of that. From moment to moment, I literally didn’t know what was around the next corner, where we would stay that night, or if Sadie would make it. When we stopped in Desert Hot Springs for two nights, she stopped eating and hid under the couch. Three days later in Sedona, she jumped up on my bed, gobbled up her food, and insisted that I take her outside to explore. Yet the night we arrived in Oklahoma City, she got very quiet, burrowed into me, and stopped eating or using the litter box. Thinking this might be the end, I prayed for the willingness to surrender and allow this precious being to follow her process. I curled myself around her and slept, tuned into her as if she were my child. The next morning she perked up, ate, and was ready to get into the car.

Over our ten days of travel, she became softer and closer and even more loving. Whether in the car or in the hotel room, she was right next to me. She rested her head in my hand while I drove and snuggled into me when we slept. She never complained, even though her joints ached, she felt car sick and she could barely eat. Though I felt hopeless to relieve her discomfort, I came to realize that she was committed to managing her pain. All she wanted from me was that I stay close. And so I did.

When we finally arrived in Asheville, I thought she would be able to relax and recover. And I believe she thought so too. We spent time outside playing in the grass and sunbathing, and I continued to stay close. As her spirit got brighter and brighter, her body began to fail. After three days everything started to shut down. Though she was still certain all she needed was rest, I knew she was beginning to transition. And on a sunny afternoon a week ago, I held her tightly in my arms as she valiantly fought the angel of death and crossed over.

How do you write about loss, the hole in your heart, and the constant ache? How do you live without not just one, but two precious beings who were your family for twenty years? How do you go on, when the ones who were meant to accompany you have left?

Sadie and her little brother Meeka taught me more than most humans about selfless love and devotion, and joy. Perhaps the best way I can honor them is to allow my heart to break open. To surrender and soften all the barriers I still hold against intimacy. To forgive myself for not being perfect, and embrace my animal soul.

What I do know is that they are still very much with me, dedicated to guiding me to become a more loving human being.

 

 

 

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