Mortality Mystery

August 13, 2015 — #death, hound, mortality, sorrow

Artemisia

To care for anyone at the end of life is a privilege and an honor. Not all people are in the circumstances to allow them to devote time to caring for family members. I cared for my parents when they had end of life issues. My brother lived far away and had a demanding job. He had no extra time or energy for our parents, and I did. The direct experience I gained by taking care of their health, assets, and welfare has given me insight into mortality.  I was close to them as they passed into the next realm of existence.  I felt the change as they slipped into that  permanent state beyond life.  They became a kind of distilled essence of all they thought, all they loved, and all they did.  Their presence is still felt on earth, but their physical bodies have ceased to function.  They are spirits.

Yesterday we said good bye to the earthly physical life of our beautiful coon hound, Artemisia.  She was a wonderful, funny, friendly, loyal dog for almost 13 years.  She had reached the end of her physical limits, but needed help to make her exit.  She was at home for her vet-assisted end of life.  Although our sorrow and loss are devastating now it was good to be with her and love her while she departed.  Our home feels and sounds empty without the sweet howling welcome when we come home.  This mourning will take time.  To be alive without my hound today is very hard.  Her spirit is teaching me to be grateful for all we shared, no regrets.  She does not regret any of her time with us, and wishes us a happy life.  I can feel her love as a permanent support and protection.  She knows my love for her can never fade. She is unlocking mortality’s secret code for me.

She was cremated today and scattered under trees at the pet cemetery.  Now she is  a couple miles down the road to the east, and her grandparents are buried a couple of miles to the west of our home.  She was close to her grandma, and acted as her therapy dog.  I feel sure they are together now in some way.  The gift in caregiving is understanding.  The task of helping someone die well can be draining and frightening. There is nothing easy about it.  The rewards are lasting and meaningful.  I know this will come in handy when the time comes for me to die.  My loyal hound will be there to guide my way.