Halcyon Days: a period
of peace and calm weather at the time of Winter Solstice.
When our beloved 11 year old Shih Tzu, Mischa, died
unexpectedly a week before Christmas, we were devastated. The shock of her
unexpected passing hit us like a full-speed locomotive; her loss sent us
reeling into a land of grief the likes of which neither of us had ever known.
We spent the first few days barely able to function, weeping at every little
reminder of our girl, having trouble sleeping because she wasn’t between us in
the bed, having trouble getting up in the morning because she wasn’t there to take
for a walk. Good folks who have never had a dog were kind and sympathetic but I
think secretly many were thinking, “OK but it’s just a dog, get over it.” Our
pet owner friends knew exactly what we were going through and wept with us.
As if by the design of angels, my husband had taken the
following two weeks off from his piano teaching, and I had only one commitment
to honor. So we had time to explore and experience our grief, deeply and fully.
We read a
wonderful book on grieving the loss of a pet and downloaded and shared an excellent eBook
on the same topic. We cried. We slept. We allowed ourselves and each other the
space to be alone with thoughts. We laughed at sweet memories. We found solace
in sitting quietly by the lake, taking in the clouds and sun and flight
patterns of water birds. We spoke with others who had lost beloved pets. We
talked and talked, and held each other as we wept.
We printed out and framed favorite pictures of Mischa and
arranged them on top of the piano with a couple of candles, her collar, and a
strand of her gorgeous tail hair that Joe had clipped just before they took her
still-warm body away--a little altar in her memory. We held a simple memorial
gathering, and some of Joe’s piano students drew pictures and wrote poems about
Mischa. We smiled when we found coins on
the floor in the most unexpected places—a phenomenon many believe to be a sign
from their deceased loved one. And we cried some more.
It was in many ways the most deeply meaningful, grace-filled
time we have shared in our 43 years together. And how significant that it
should come during the period of the Winter Solstice—the darkest days of the
year, the time when the ancients would wonder if the sun was going to disappear
forever, and when the ancient Celts celebrated the end of one harvest cycle and
the beginning of a new one.
We talked, eventually, about someday getting another dog to
love. Maybe in a few months, we said; maybe not until the summer; who knows. We
asked people who had lost pets how long they waited. Some said a year, others a
few months, others couldn’t stand the silence in the house and had a new dog in
a month. They, and the authors of the books we read, all said the same thing:
when you’re ready, you’ll know.
So just as we were settling into the idea of waiting for at
least a few months, I got a text from my son: a web address. Curious, I
clicked…and there was the face of a gorgeous Shih Tzu puppy. Looking into those
eyes in the picture was like looking into Mischa’s beautiful, deep, liquid
brown eyes. I think my heart stopped for a few seconds. I searched the site
further and found behind the pages the spirit of someone who loved ShihTzus the
way we loved our girl. And an email address.
I wrote. She answered. Later that day, we talked. Before I
knew what had hit me, I had made an appointment to go see this beautiful pup in
a week.
I ended the call and stared at my phone, wondering what had
just happened.
On my way to the grocery store, after having obsessed on
this for about an hour, I told myself, “No way, we can’t do this, this is
crazy, we’re not ready; I’ll call her back and cancel when I get home.” But
then, on the way out of the store, I found a dime on the floor.
This was the first of many “coincidences” over the next few
days as we weighed the pro’s and cons of getting another dog so soon.
I was visited in my dreams by a Kingfisher--the Halcyon
bird--said to be the promise of abundance, new warmth, prosperity and love
about to unfold in one’s life. Another morning as I awoke I became aware of the
most beautiful birdsong outside the window—so melodious and sweet it brought
tears to my eyes. We’ve lived here 4-1/2 years and I’d never heard that bird
before. Later that day, a white egret flew across the lake and settled right on the spot where Mischa and I had spent
a quiet hour the day before she died. As we watched him, we noticed the faint
but definite colors of a partial rainbow between the clouds in the west.
The next morning I awoke to the same sweet birdsong. I
looked out the window to try to locate the bird, and there, stretching across
the cloudy, misty sky, was a full rainbow. Even through my tears I could see
the soft shadow of a second rainbow behind it. The following morning, as we sat
at breakfast, a bright red cardinal appeared just outside the glass patio door—the
first cardinal I have seen since moving to Florida.
Maybe we’re just two crazy people who assign significance to
otherwise meaningless “coincidences.” Or maybe, during the sacred time we spent
opening to our grief, a little door to the magical world of
possibilities opened in our hearts. Either way, it became clear beyond any
doubt that we were meant to at least meet this gorgeous 7 month old pup and (as
it turned out) his adorable sister.
The rest, as they say, is history. They both came home with
us, and in a few short days, they already own our hearts.
No, we didn’t get them from a shelter. In so many ways, I’m
sorry we didn’t. A month before Mischa died, we had contacted a few rescue
groups about finding a companion for her. They all seemed desperately in need
of loving homes for their dogs, but after repeated calls before and after
Mischa’s passing, a couple of actual conversations, and even filling out
applications to adopt, nobody got back to us. Could we have pursued them, or
other groups? Yes we could. But I’ve learned in my almost 65 years that if
something isn’t working out, it just might be because it’s not supposed to.
I’ve also learned that when the signs are clear, you need to pay attention. We
were being guided—whether by Mischa’s spirit or angels or just our intuition—in
another direction.
As I write this, our two little ones are sleeping peacefully
in a sunny spot on the floor of my study. Just outside my window, a flock of
ibis is grazing on the shore of the lake. I glance at the calendar, noting that
Mischa left us just 3 weeks ago today. I am amazed at what has happened during this
short time—these “halcyon days” of coming
from the darkest night of sorrow to inner searching, questioning, trusting and,
ultimately, acceptance and peace. We miss Mischa with a deep, tender ache—she
was a very special, sweet, intuitive and loving little dog whose love and
energy blessed every minute of every day for the 9 years she lived with us. I
know that ache will never go away, because we always will miss the gift of her
spirit and her presence in our lives. And we cherish that ache.
Meanwhile, Kaffee and Kona are already leaving their
pawprints on our hearts. And sometimes, when the light is just right and I can surrender
for a few seconds to that magical world of possibilities, I see Mischa lying between them on my sunny study
floor, happy and content that we’re not alone any more.
