My last morning with Pickle.
It was 4.30 am on Thursday, July 2nd. I was sitting outside in a low, striped beach chair in my fenced-in yard, a corner of the garden where I grow flowers. My chair was facing east, and I could see the outline of the lawn sweep down the hill and run off into the dark woods that surround the house. The sky was still dark, the air was still cool, and it was quiet. No cars, no birds, no noise, just silence. Two bats flew high above my head, swooping back and forth, looking for their last meal before bed.
I was holding Pickle, my 9 lb mushroom-colored dog, in my arms. She was on her back, her soft pink belly was exposed to the elements, her legs dangled above her body, and her little head rested on my chest. I could feel the weight and warmth of her in my arms. I looked down at my little girl; her brown eyes reflected the string lights that hung on the wall behind me. We held each other's gaze. Pickle let out a contented breath and I felt her body get heavier in my arms. I didn't move a muscle. Sitting in my beach deck chair, I was holding onto that precious moment, to my precious girl, for as long as I could.
I didn't know it then, but that would be our last morning together; by that evening, she would be gone.
Pickle had been ill for a long time, and the last 8 months of her life were not the best. My mind always seemed to be on her, trying to keep her comfortable, running to pick her up whenever she was coughing, or trying to get somewhere she couldn't reach. I tucked blankets under her chin and wrapped reams of cotton wool around her aging body. I was looking after her, as much as I was looking after myself. As her health deteriorated, my body was navigating its own decline. Hormones seemed to peak and trough from one hour to the next; I sometimes didn’t know who I was.
As I boiled sweet potato for Pickle's dinner, I was also preparing healthy food for myself. Food had become my medicine. I did everything I could to ground myself, to take care of myself. Meditation soothed my spirits, even on the days when my brain seemed wired the wrong way, and walking, walking was a physical and mental breath of fresh air. It cleared my head, gave me perspective, and brought me back to a truer sense of myself.
When Pickle died, there was a distinct turning of the page. On the night she passed, I went into my meditation closet, lit a candle, sat on my cushion, and crossed my legs. As I let my body settle and my breathing steady, I sat in the stillness, feeling everything that was churning inside: sadness, shock, regret, and love, so much love, all mushed up into a soup of emotion. In the stillness, I recognized something was over.
That chapter of my life was gone.
The next one lies empty, undefined, waiting to be written. In the space Pickle left behind, I see myself in a more honest way, no excuses to hide behind, no distractions anymore. There is just me and a curiosity: What's next?
I can feel the old conditioned stories pushing their way in, trying to occupy my mind. The old habit of trying to get somewhere, to be something, to push myself forward. But it doesn't ring true in the way it did before. I can see now that it's a mask for something else. A feeling my body wants, a feeling of wanting to know I am ok, that I am accomplished. And I wonder now if I can feel that, without all the struggle and effort.
For now, I want to acknowledge the magnitude of what has passed. A 9lb dog whose spirit expanded beyond her body, beyond the walls of my home, and beyond the edges of my life, to touch everyone who met her and knew her. She brought so much joy: smiles to people’s faces and light to their eyes. She lifted spirits and blew away dark thoughts and low moods with a wag of her tail. She impacted the world in a profound way, and she did it by being all that she already was.
Thanks for reading
Mel
x
The one and only Pickle Hopwood :-)
