Saturday, June 5, 2010
Child quote of the day
"I told Buck something no horse has ever been told before: I told him that when you love someone, they live in your heart forever."--A 7 year old boy, comforting a horse after his friend had died.
Saying Goodbye
I've only recently learned to go through the grief process in a halfway decent way. Recently, as I blogged about in my last post, I had to help my friend say goodbye to her horse, Kidd. He had a very sudden and severe colic and there was absolutely nothing we could do to save him. As I go through the process of dealing with the emotions his death has left me with, I am continually struck with how well we dealt with the process--not that it was easy, just that we handled it as well as I think we could have.
First of all, we waited until he was completely willing and gave his permission before we euthanized him. As I said in my last post, I think we were able to help him transition instead of stealing his soul out of his body--and what a difference that makes to my emotional state afterwards! (not to mention, the ease to him of transitioning).
Secondly, we stayed with his body as long as we felt we needed to. My friend kept stroking him and hugging him and sharing stories and how she felt about him. In the past I was never able to do this when my animals died, wanting to avoid the reality of death. I would go to the lengths of averting my eyes from their body, as if pretending what had happened hadn't really happened. I would immediately cover their body with a tarp, or call to have it removed. I remember several times when I lost a horse having terrifying dreams of them wandering around the pasture after they died, with coagulated blood, like a zombie. I think this was a direct result of me trying to avoid the reality of their death and refusing to sit with their bodies.
I also think this process can be important for the horse himself to leave his body. When an animal has time to process the fact that they are crossing over, they may immediately leave their body and cross to the other side. However, when something happens this sudden and surprisingly, they can remain attached to their body just like we are. In this case I think it is important that they have our support in order to detach from their bodies and move on. As we sat with Kid's fallen body, I continually communicated with him and reminded him that he would need to leave his body soon. I continued to prepare him for the reality of his death, just like I had before he was euthanized.
I also think back to when my horses died, and wonder if the feeling I had that they would come back to life had to do with the fact that their deaths were (relatively) sudden and I did not properly prepare them for euthanasia. I imagine that they stayed attached to their bodies just like I felt Kid had, and probably contributed to my difficulty processing the fact they were gone. Not only did I not allow myself to process the fact that their soul had detached from their body, I did not support them in this process either.
The third thing we did right was allow everyone else who loved this horse to say goodbye to him. Kid lived at a treatment center for adolescents, and was one of the main horses we allowed the boys to ride. When we were sitting with his body, my boss came up to me and asked if I thought we should let the boys come out to say goodbye. I am a therapist, but don't always have the answers. I was immediately torn. Would they be able to handle it, or would it just add more trauma to their lives? While sitting with Kidd I began to feel more and more certain that he wanted the boys to come say goodbye to him; in fact, he told me he was not planning on leaving his body until they did!
So, I went inside and explained to all the boys what happened and asked who would like to come say goodbye to Kidd. All the boys were all extremely somber. All but one of them wanted to come out, many of them already in tears. They all came out and sat, kneeled, and stood around Kidd. Some of them had tears running down their face. They were all extremely serious and connected to what had happened They shared memories about him and what they would miss. They stroked him and gave him hugs.
One of the boys said: "You know, it feels like with horses, it's almost like they're hardly even there!"
(This would confirm the communication I got from the first horse that crossed over, that horses can "come and go as they please," while people and dogs are more solid in their bodies)
Confirming that this had been the right choice, most of the kids also shared memories of times they hadn't gotten to say goodbye to important animals or people in their lives. "When my dog died," one said, "my mom wouldn't let me see it, she just took it away." Another said: "I wasn't allowed to go to my step mom's funeral. I always felt like it must have been my fault, because I was left out of everything"
Another said. "When my horse died, my dad just left it lying in the ditch. I never got to see it or say goodbye." All of them had memories of being left out of the dying process because of parents who wanted to protect them. All of them were extremely grateful for being involved in this process and being allowed to say goodbye.
Our boys are troubled teens and needless to say do not always handle things maturely. However, I couldn't have been prouder of how they handled this event. As an adult, I have never handled an event like this as well as they did! And I am so proud and grateful that Kid was able to guide me in guiding them through this process.
There is still a process of grief that follows an event like this, no matter how well you handle it; and never any perfect way to go through it. However, I feel like I am finally learning how to move through this process with grace and an open heart--thanks in part to a horse and some teenage boys.
First of all, we waited until he was completely willing and gave his permission before we euthanized him. As I said in my last post, I think we were able to help him transition instead of stealing his soul out of his body--and what a difference that makes to my emotional state afterwards! (not to mention, the ease to him of transitioning).
Secondly, we stayed with his body as long as we felt we needed to. My friend kept stroking him and hugging him and sharing stories and how she felt about him. In the past I was never able to do this when my animals died, wanting to avoid the reality of death. I would go to the lengths of averting my eyes from their body, as if pretending what had happened hadn't really happened. I would immediately cover their body with a tarp, or call to have it removed. I remember several times when I lost a horse having terrifying dreams of them wandering around the pasture after they died, with coagulated blood, like a zombie. I think this was a direct result of me trying to avoid the reality of their death and refusing to sit with their bodies.
I also think this process can be important for the horse himself to leave his body. When an animal has time to process the fact that they are crossing over, they may immediately leave their body and cross to the other side. However, when something happens this sudden and surprisingly, they can remain attached to their body just like we are. In this case I think it is important that they have our support in order to detach from their bodies and move on. As we sat with Kid's fallen body, I continually communicated with him and reminded him that he would need to leave his body soon. I continued to prepare him for the reality of his death, just like I had before he was euthanized.
I also think back to when my horses died, and wonder if the feeling I had that they would come back to life had to do with the fact that their deaths were (relatively) sudden and I did not properly prepare them for euthanasia. I imagine that they stayed attached to their bodies just like I felt Kid had, and probably contributed to my difficulty processing the fact they were gone. Not only did I not allow myself to process the fact that their soul had detached from their body, I did not support them in this process either.
The third thing we did right was allow everyone else who loved this horse to say goodbye to him. Kid lived at a treatment center for adolescents, and was one of the main horses we allowed the boys to ride. When we were sitting with his body, my boss came up to me and asked if I thought we should let the boys come out to say goodbye. I am a therapist, but don't always have the answers. I was immediately torn. Would they be able to handle it, or would it just add more trauma to their lives? While sitting with Kidd I began to feel more and more certain that he wanted the boys to come say goodbye to him; in fact, he told me he was not planning on leaving his body until they did!
So, I went inside and explained to all the boys what happened and asked who would like to come say goodbye to Kidd. All the boys were all extremely somber. All but one of them wanted to come out, many of them already in tears. They all came out and sat, kneeled, and stood around Kidd. Some of them had tears running down their face. They were all extremely serious and connected to what had happened They shared memories about him and what they would miss. They stroked him and gave him hugs.
One of the boys said: "You know, it feels like with horses, it's almost like they're hardly even there!"
(This would confirm the communication I got from the first horse that crossed over, that horses can "come and go as they please," while people and dogs are more solid in their bodies)
Confirming that this had been the right choice, most of the kids also shared memories of times they hadn't gotten to say goodbye to important animals or people in their lives. "When my dog died," one said, "my mom wouldn't let me see it, she just took it away." Another said: "I wasn't allowed to go to my step mom's funeral. I always felt like it must have been my fault, because I was left out of everything"
Another said. "When my horse died, my dad just left it lying in the ditch. I never got to see it or say goodbye." All of them had memories of being left out of the dying process because of parents who wanted to protect them. All of them were extremely grateful for being involved in this process and being allowed to say goodbye.
Our boys are troubled teens and needless to say do not always handle things maturely. However, I couldn't have been prouder of how they handled this event. As an adult, I have never handled an event like this as well as they did! And I am so proud and grateful that Kid was able to guide me in guiding them through this process.
There is still a process of grief that follows an event like this, no matter how well you handle it; and never any perfect way to go through it. However, I feel like I am finally learning how to move through this process with grace and an open heart--thanks in part to a horse and some teenage boys.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Fear of Suffering
I have been struck recently by the extreme fear of suffering we have for our animals when they are facing a life-threatening condition.
We want to do best by our animals, and want to make sure that we are not causing them excessive suffering, and that is honorable.
However, in my understanding of death, suffering can sometimes be a necessary part of the process of dying, that helps prepare the soul to split from the body. Skipping past this process because of our extreme fear of watching our animals suffer is not doing service to anyone.
Before I understood all of the things I do now about animal communication and spirituality, I was put in the position several times to euthanize animals before (I believe) they were ready. They all had life threatening conditions, that they were not going to recover from, and thus I allowed the vets to talk me into euthanasia.
I have suffered extreme guilt from these instances for years, because the feeling I have always had was that I literally stole these animals souls from their bodies, before they were really ready to part with their earthly form.
There is a huge difference between stealing a soul and aiding an animal in transitioning.
If I had these instances to do over again, I would allow my animals to pass in their own way and time, when they were fully prepared and ready. This doesn't mean that we couldn't assist with euthanasia, but I wouldn't force this on them, no matter my perception of their suffering.
The universe, working in the way it does, has given me the opportunity (of course) to "do over" these instances in the form of helping other animals.
In the past three days I have assisted two horses in crossing over. Both of them had fatal colics. The first horse was young (only) 6, and had been colcky for most of the day, and possibly the night before. When all treatment failed, the vet re-palpated to confirm that he had a displacement. The vet said: You have three options: Surgery, Time and more fluids (not likely to work), and euthanasia. When he said the third option the horse gave a low level whinney--a literal physical validation of what he wanted (He was in with his pasture-mate and for the rest of the day hadn't made a sound). He told me: "Why would I want surgery when I can just leave this body and get a new one? Why would I want to go through all of that?"
When the vet went to get the euthanasia injection, he took me over to specific spot in the corral and laid down, as if to say: "I'm ready." In spite of the difficulty for all of us in putting down a beautiful 6 year old horse with no other health problems, it was clearly the choice that he wanted for himself at that time.
The other horse, a 21 year old thoroughbred started colicking in the morning after acting normally for feeding time. Initially he seemed to be very mild, and seemed to think himself that he was going to be fine. However, after his symptoms getting worse after medication and over a two hour period we decided to call the vet. By the time the vet had arrived he had begun to act very painful, with huge stomach cramps, although never lying down. After every possible pain killer and tranquilizer, he was only acting worse, not at all tranquilized and still acting like he was in extreme pain. The vet said she thought our only option was euthanasia. (This all happened within a thirty minute time period). With the horse's owner breaking down over the pain he was in and the vet certain that there was no hope for recovery, the decision was made to euthanize him. However, being connected to the horse, I kept feeling "no, not yet! Just wait." The horse was in obvious pain, his back legs buckling with every step, and extreme stomach cramps racking his entire body; and his owner was sobbing, saying, just do it, I can't watch him suffer. But when the vet approached with the euthanasia I began breaking down, saying "Can't we just wait? He's not ready." Even with my logical mind knowing the horse was not going to recover, nothing in me could allow the vet to approach to euthanize the horse at this moment. For two agonizing moments we were all at a stand still, watching the horse "suffer," until he took two strides forward, his hind legs buckled and he fell to the ground. "Ok," I said, "Now is okay." And we were all in tears as the vet helped this horse cross over to the other side.
The horses have told me this week that I am the "gatekeeper" to the other side. No matter my arguments over this responsibility they have told me that they trust me: They know I won't allow them to suffer, but I also won't allow them to cross before their time.
Sometimes that time is just a matter of minutes while the soul prepares to leave the body and take its journey onward.
Who am I to rob them of this, just because of my fear of suffering?
We want to do best by our animals, and want to make sure that we are not causing them excessive suffering, and that is honorable.
However, in my understanding of death, suffering can sometimes be a necessary part of the process of dying, that helps prepare the soul to split from the body. Skipping past this process because of our extreme fear of watching our animals suffer is not doing service to anyone.
Before I understood all of the things I do now about animal communication and spirituality, I was put in the position several times to euthanize animals before (I believe) they were ready. They all had life threatening conditions, that they were not going to recover from, and thus I allowed the vets to talk me into euthanasia.
I have suffered extreme guilt from these instances for years, because the feeling I have always had was that I literally stole these animals souls from their bodies, before they were really ready to part with their earthly form.
There is a huge difference between stealing a soul and aiding an animal in transitioning.
If I had these instances to do over again, I would allow my animals to pass in their own way and time, when they were fully prepared and ready. This doesn't mean that we couldn't assist with euthanasia, but I wouldn't force this on them, no matter my perception of their suffering.
The universe, working in the way it does, has given me the opportunity (of course) to "do over" these instances in the form of helping other animals.
In the past three days I have assisted two horses in crossing over. Both of them had fatal colics. The first horse was young (only) 6, and had been colcky for most of the day, and possibly the night before. When all treatment failed, the vet re-palpated to confirm that he had a displacement. The vet said: You have three options: Surgery, Time and more fluids (not likely to work), and euthanasia. When he said the third option the horse gave a low level whinney--a literal physical validation of what he wanted (He was in with his pasture-mate and for the rest of the day hadn't made a sound). He told me: "Why would I want surgery when I can just leave this body and get a new one? Why would I want to go through all of that?"
When the vet went to get the euthanasia injection, he took me over to specific spot in the corral and laid down, as if to say: "I'm ready." In spite of the difficulty for all of us in putting down a beautiful 6 year old horse with no other health problems, it was clearly the choice that he wanted for himself at that time.
The other horse, a 21 year old thoroughbred started colicking in the morning after acting normally for feeding time. Initially he seemed to be very mild, and seemed to think himself that he was going to be fine. However, after his symptoms getting worse after medication and over a two hour period we decided to call the vet. By the time the vet had arrived he had begun to act very painful, with huge stomach cramps, although never lying down. After every possible pain killer and tranquilizer, he was only acting worse, not at all tranquilized and still acting like he was in extreme pain. The vet said she thought our only option was euthanasia. (This all happened within a thirty minute time period). With the horse's owner breaking down over the pain he was in and the vet certain that there was no hope for recovery, the decision was made to euthanize him. However, being connected to the horse, I kept feeling "no, not yet! Just wait." The horse was in obvious pain, his back legs buckling with every step, and extreme stomach cramps racking his entire body; and his owner was sobbing, saying, just do it, I can't watch him suffer. But when the vet approached with the euthanasia I began breaking down, saying "Can't we just wait? He's not ready." Even with my logical mind knowing the horse was not going to recover, nothing in me could allow the vet to approach to euthanize the horse at this moment. For two agonizing moments we were all at a stand still, watching the horse "suffer," until he took two strides forward, his hind legs buckled and he fell to the ground. "Ok," I said, "Now is okay." And we were all in tears as the vet helped this horse cross over to the other side.
The horses have told me this week that I am the "gatekeeper" to the other side. No matter my arguments over this responsibility they have told me that they trust me: They know I won't allow them to suffer, but I also won't allow them to cross before their time.
Sometimes that time is just a matter of minutes while the soul prepares to leave the body and take its journey onward.
Who am I to rob them of this, just because of my fear of suffering?
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