It’s been almost four months since we lost Bucky.
I admit it’s harder to write about him. The grind of reality sets in like a hang over. Isolation creeps in. Your outer shell begins to harden again. You stop talking about your loss; the world becomes impatient, it moves on, it feels easier to pretend you’re moving on. I’m dull and am losing my words.
And there’s the pain. An ache settles into the pit of my stomach. There are moments of relief, definitely. Routines are good anesthetics, as long as you keep your head in them. Work satisfies this. The petty little tyrannies of days on the job, trying to get things done and settling into duties, some a pleasure and most pretty forgettable. It’s not the job’s fault, I am grateful for it in many ways, especially that crisp white envelope I get each week. I’m in resistance to the nature of the work itself. Once you’ve had your outer shell dissolved, things get in you didn’t expect, the heart expands, the old stuff no longer fits. Love does that to you and even though you want to run from the vulnerability of it all, I’m suspecting that this is when the really good stuff happens. Especially in grieving.
When I began mourning, several caring friends advised: keep moving, find reasons to get out of bed, stay as active as you can, find ways to sweat and stay busy. It’s great advice and it really does help. At the same time, I am simply looking for a way to not run from the experience through distraction, another great anesthetic. I want to find ways to hold this close without it crushing me.
I say allow yourself to grieve; and cultivate ways to experience it as the gift it is. Yes, a gift. Love is a gift, and to feel its loss is to honor its presence.
When you’ve lost a companion, it feels isolating in a way that losing a friend or family member often doesn’t because we live in a culture that isn’t always sensitive to our loss, doesn’t provide practical insights into coping with the loss, in fact may make you feel shamed or belittled or crazy. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to write this blog, to connect with others going through similar journeys and pass on what Bucky taught me.
I discovered some simple practices to hold this experience. It’s all about keeping the valves open from the heart when it’s battling the silent screams within your chest.
Buddhists philosophy talks about a period of time after death when our karma (soul, spirit if you will) searches for rebirth, or freedom from that cycle and beyond to enlightenment. In that inbetween time, which can go by in a flash, or take many weeks or longer, we tend to cling to our old forms, especially in the first three weeks, and in that time the spirit is still receptive to our loved ones, sensitive to thoughts and feelings and old routines. What you think and communicate can still get through and help them on their journey. It’s never too late in fact. And maybe this practice of sending loving thoughts becomes a wonderful life-long practice that benefits all beings.
Even if you believe none of the philosophy, these practices I talk about below are just nice ways to give yourself a chance to cultivate some peace amidst the sorrow and to remind yourself that the love doesn’t have to die when a body dies.
The idea that energy doesn’t die, that it may take time to form into something new, that it may linger in the areas of its most profound transitions makes sense to me- look at the natural world. That isn’t magical thinking as much as getting comfortable with the processes of no beginnings and no ends, but of transitions. And through it all what we think and feel, how we act, what we put out there matters a great deal.
SEEING THEM THROUGH with PEACE
This is not so much a ritual but a call to a gift you can pass on to anyone in your life making the transition into death and beyond. I could write volumes now on what I’ve learned about being with the dying and coping with loss and it boils down to this: skip making it about your suffering or any other baggage you have to work through. You’ll have plenty of time to tend to that later.
Yes, you’re in hell and your grief is profound, but that anguish will only upset a being that is near their end. Hospice books say outright that those who are passing want to know it’s okay to let go, and they need to know that you will be okay. Before and after your loved one passes, help them by creating an environment of peace. Let them know you’re going to be okay although you will miss them, and that they will be okay. Help them to let go without your suffering holding them back.
As Bucky was struggling more and more and it was clear he couldn’t hold on much longer, I did what I could to stay calm and think in terms of blessings and gratitude, to let him know it was okay to release, that he would be okay, that he was doing what he needed to do and I understood and that we would miss him but we did not want to see him suffer. Hardest thing in the world to do, if you’ve been there you know. But keeping my mind on what would benefit him, comfort him, what would be the last gift I could give him, helped me to cultivate a peace that i could share with him.
Don’t be in a rush to disturb their things. If our energy lingers it may help to feel some sense of normalcy. I trust I’ll know when it’s time. It does no harm to maintain a sacred space. No beginnings, no ends. Allow yourself to gently honor the space and the routines you had together and you’ll know when it’s time to let them go.
Many practitioners say our spirits are confused by death, it can be profound and frightening. We may still be receptive to hunger and are drawn to familiar scent. After your loved one has passed, especially in the first 3 weeks, especially on the anniversary of their passing, one can do a ritual offering called Sur, specifically to assuage the hunger and offer fulfillment.
You start by making a familiar sound to call their attention; I ring the bells that hang on our back door, or jingle his collar, or squeeze one of his toys. Then I take his favorite treat which happened to be a dried chicken strip and play a recording of the medicine mantra as a blessing and I dedicate the merit of the offering to Bucky and to the benefit of all sentient beings. Then I place it over a candle and let the smoke rise as it blackens and I imagine that the smoke satisfies his hunger, quenches his thirst, fulfills his dreams and prayers, lights his way to his new home filled with peace and joy and compassion and wisdom, and great teachers and wonderful companions that will love him and help him on his path. And most of all I imagine the smoke is love, and it finds him and wraps itself around him as he goes forward without fear, without suffering and into the light. I chant Om Mani Pedmi Hung.
So simple and lovely. Breath in, and imagine yourself taking in to every pore of your body any negative thoughts your loved one may be having that may be holding them back- take in their fear, the darkness, the loneliness, the uncertainty and hold it for them. Breath out and send them love and light and clarity and peace and compassion, whatever good things from your heart that will let them know it’s okay to move forward on their path. I do this three times, but it could be a whole meditation. It’s lovely to imagine through your breath that you are taking away pain and giving love. When you’re grieving, this reminds you that perhaps it’s not the end, and there is more to give. I’m hoping it will become a lifelong habit.
Every morning I’m discovering joy in feeding the birds. It’s spring here, lots of mommas and papas with eager beaks to fill. I put out seed in the feeder and on the stones, and watch as 8-10 birds swoop in, blue jays scoop up the bigger seeds and take them back to their nests, finches and towhees and cheating woodpeckers shuffle and scurry and feast. This feels like one of the best things I do in my day. It occurred to me that this is an act of merit that I can give away, dedicate it to Bucky, and all the sentient beings in the world who hunger or thirst, or whose spirits are searching or who need relief from suffering. I dedicate the merit of writing this blog, or being patient on the freeway. Any act of kindness toward other beings no matter how small can be dedicated in this way, not just for the benefit of your loved one, but even more powerfully for the benefit of all. I think it’s a nice thing to notice when you’re being kind. Go ahead, celebrate it, give it away, more will come.
And above all, don’t worry about the rituals, especially when you are distraught and grieving and you must let yourself grieve. Just speak from your heart and take care of yourself so that you can find the strength to go and love some more.
I imagine Bucky on a path with us, eager to find home, and now he gets to go on ahead, he’s free and he’s surrounded with joy. If there is a heaven, I will reunite with all those I loved who I’ve met along the way. I’m thinking we were on this journey together for a reason. And there will be Bucky doing the happy dance, welcoming me home. That’s all the heaven I want.
PS: This book below goes into great detail about Tibetan Buddhist traditions in coping with death. I was helpful, and chips away at your fear about the whole process and gives very practical advice to help yourself and others...we’re all in the same boat. It has a few pages specifically devoted to pets:
Preparing to Die: Practical Advice and Spiritual Wisdom from the Tibetan Buddhist Tradition http://www.amazon.com/Preparing-Die-Practical-Spiritual-Tradition/dp/1559394080
