Death does not end the relationship.
Just because your partner physically died, a loved one has crossed over, your dog is no longer lying at your feet does not mean the relationship is over.
The relationship has changed, dramatically changed, but it is not over unless you choose to close your heart and move on. This is the choice we are faced. Do we want to expand into relationship or shut relationships off because they are not what they were.
My horse Scout visited me in a dream the day of Scott’s death. I remember describing the dream in detail to Scott in bed that morning. Scott would cross over later that evening. I wrote a faint description of the dream on my blog that day, it was so vivid. I went on with my day not realizing Scout was sending me a message, a message of love and comfort.
What I found so touching about this encounter with my horse Scout who crossed over many years ago, before I met Scott was that all three of us were in the dream. Scout, Scott, and Me.
When I had my farm many years ago, my horse Scout also had a soul mate, a horse named Wally. Winsome Walter was a retired race horse who I adopted. When I adopted him, he was broken down, in pain, and severely malnourished and underweight. During his seventeen years in this life, he had been bought and sold thirteen times, at one time being owned by Doc Severinsen, the famed Jazz Trumpeter on the Tonight Show.
Winsome Walter, “Wally” didn’t prove himself a fine racehorse, or a jumper later in life. He failed at what he was “bred” for, what humans expected of him, he rebelled like my horse Reanna. He wanted to live life on his own terms which propelled him into a life being moved from home to home until he found himself abandoned at a boarding facility where the owner of said barn refused to feed him resentful of the unpaid bills his last owner left him with. So Wally starved until a local horse rescue found out about him.
When Wally came to me, I spent a month putting his weight back on, getting his overgrown hooves trimmed, and having my veterinarian do a thorough check up, prescribing pain meds and joint supplements.
Within a short few weeks, Wally’s coat gleamed, his personality came through, and his muscles were so defined, you could see the faint glimmer of the good breeding that had produced him.
My mare Scout fell madly in love with Wally.
One day, coming home early from work, I found them both playing and splashing in the pond.
For the short time, I had Wally, Scout never left his side. They slept next to each other, each in their own stalls, they grazed together, they dozed napping under the trees together, they groomed each other.
During feeding time, the last day of Wally’s short life with us, I called out to my animals. All of them, the goats, Wally and Scout (Reanna was at another barn in training) came running to me. I noticed right away a huge gash of flesh missing from Wally’s back end. My heart sunk, I knew this wasn’t good. Later, I would find out a young mountain lion had followed the Laguna attacking my neighbor’s horses leaving large claw scratches on their backs, ending up at my farm attacking Wally who I believe was most likely protecting Scout and the goats from harm.
My neighbors horses were lucky, Wally was not. When the veterinarian arrived Wally refused treatment. The vet tried every maneuver and every tranquilizer. Wally, this time was in a fight for his life, his spirit. After two hours of struggling to get Wally calm enough to look at the wound and try to clean and suture it, in fear of the veterinarian’s safety. Wally would not stop trying to kick and stomp the vet to death, I authorized euthanasia.
That night, under an almost full moon, I watched as Scout held vigil over Wally’s body.
I tried to coax her with treats, and hay. I petted her, talked to her, and tried to bring her into the barn. She wouldn’t flinch. She stayed with Wally all night until they picked up his body the next day.
I didn’t know what to do for her. Her grief ran so deep beyond my understanding.
The night of my Scott’s death, his crossing over. I waited until my sister fell asleep and quietly left her company and the couch to go to our bedroom. I sat on our bed,
Scott was gone. I was all alone. I stared into the darkness, a darkness I never knew existed, my body and soul felt dismembered, a pain I did not know was possible wrecked me, carving me deep within leaving me open and the most vulnerable I have ever felt.
In the excruciating pain, I remembered the red horse in the dream I awoke from that morning, the red horse that placed her head into my chest holding me for what seemed like forever. I quietly sobbed, the tears poured from my soul, and I knew, I felt deep within what Scout felt that night as she kept watch over Wally.
I whispered from this deep place of grief.
“I’m sorry Scout. I know now. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I didn’t know what you went through. I know now, Scout. I know now. I”m sorry.”
I stayed up all night in vigil over Scott with my red horse Scout beside me until the sun rose up in the morning, and the light came in through the window.
Relationships never end. My horse visited me the morning before Scott crossed over. I made amends and asked her forgiveness on the night, I lost my soulmate.
I could feel her pain as I felt my own.
I am healing as she has.
It is up to us to awaken in this life’s dream and become awakened to other realms as well, where our loved ones communicate through time and space letting us know that death is not a permanent state. Death is a door like Birth. We cannot have one without the other.
We do ourselves and those we love a disservice by forgetting this.
As much as we want to touch and connect with them, they want to connect with us.
Relationships do not die with physical death.
When my soul brother David died, his mother a French Canadian Catholic in her eighties at the time asked me to take her to the Catholic Church. She wanted to meet with the priest.
We drove in my car to the church. David’s mother was so frail and consumed with grief. I looked over at her, her frame lost in the passenger seat, a delicate necklace with the cross placed perfectly around her neck. Her conservative buttoned cardigan fitted around her.
At the church, in the priest’s office, we both sat in comfortable chairs across from him.
I remember thinking how young he looked. He must have been close to my age, early thirties, maybe thirty-five. He looked uncomfortable, distant.
David’s mom asked the question. She wanted to know where her son was. Was he with God?
I can’t tell you what the priest said to her.
It was a word, maybe two, maybe three words.
I can tell you, they didn’t bring David’s mom comfort. I could feel her pain permeate the room. She crumpled in the chair.
I wanted to tell the priest off. How dare he hold a position and be an authority on death, if he didn’t have answers? If he could not have the heart to comfort a mother in distress and pain. A Catholic Woman in her eighties, a woman so dedicated to the church, she spent her life kneeling at its altar every Sunday absorbing every word uttered by the clergy and written in the bible.
I gathered David’s mom up and got her out of there. I don’t remember what I said to her. I knew David was still with us and I am sure I tried to bring his mom comfort and a knowing it was true, that he would never leave us.
I wonder sometimes at how asleep and cut off our world can be by forgetting and trying to “move one” from the ones who have departed.
I guess for some of us it’s easier to “move on” and forget.
Do we really forget? Or do we bury the memories, the connection, until the departed get through somehow later to let us know they didn’t “die”, their love for us never dies.
I know Scout came back.
Scout came back when I needed her the most.
I will never forget her. She still lives.
As does Scott, and David.
Our love never dies. Our connection to the departed is always here waiting for us.