By Sylvia Edmonds
This is a magical story, and if you are mourning the love of a special animal around Valentine’s Day, I invite you to immerse yourself in this tale and let it touch your heart.
It was an achingly cold fall day in 1998, unusual for southwest Florida. With a matching ache in my heart, I frog-marched myself into the leaf-strewn yard and began raking ferociously. This ferocity was an old coping habit of mine, one I used to force myself through a demanding task, to diminish the impact of a pain.
Several weeks earlier, my old doggie soul mate, Rachel, had passed over and I was in deep, raw grief.
Part of me was numb and part of me wanted to scream. What I knew for sure was that my heart hurt so bad it was threatening to close down. I worried for my sanity.
The rake scraped over dry ground, catching dead leaves and grass in its teeth. The sound grated, hurting my ears.
Continuing to work vigorously, I considered the matter of hearts. When the vet had come to the house to euthanize Rachel, I had held her heart in my hands as the lethal dose ended her suffering. It astonished me that her heart turned hot for an instant before it stopped forever. The memory of that moment haunted me, even as I now felt my own heart pulsing with life.
How could I still feel life so much when my little companion was no longer next to me?
In the moment of pausing to reflect, a gentle, familiar, soundless Voice whispered up from within, “What would it take to open up your heart?”
It stopped me in my tracks. What? Is that really what I wanted? To open up for even more pain and sorrow? Hey, Voice, I’m still bleeding for Rachel here!
The Voice persisted, “What would it take?”
I admit that grief has long fascinated me. I was at one time a bereavement counselor for the local hospice and, of course, had also experienced many personal losses by this mid-age time in my life. Grieving seemed to me something like a Ping Pong game, as uncontrollable forces played mercilessly with one’s emotions. The heart was bounced crazily from searing pain to peaceful moments, from hot anger to the guilty joy of good memories.
I stopped still, plopped myself onto the low wall skirting the yard, leaned on the rake and breathed deeply.
“What would it take?”
That wise-guy Voice proceeded to startle me further by going ahead and answering its own question. Or was that my own tender heart responding? I wasn’t sure, but somehow now, it didn’t matter.
“Baby animals.”
Where on earth DID that come from?
Visions of puppies, kittens, bunnies, fawns and nestlings began to kaleidoscope through my mind’s eye and a tiny smile made a tiny crack in my scared and crazy heart. I felt my body soften and relax. Some kind of magic was infiltrating the Ping Pong game.
“Good answer, Self,” I murmured. (Or whoever you are.)
Strangely lighter in spirit, I resumed raking and forgot all about the dialogue. The refuse I was cleaning up became the center of a new mindful focus, and my body felt good to be useful. For the moment, my mental health was salvaged and my ferocity softened. The Ping Pong ball had bounced into a healing zone, an intermission in the crazy, grief game.
Within the hour, I felt normal enough to venture out on a mundane task, without needing that ruthless frog-march. I drove a few miles downtown to the ATM machine and completed a routine transaction.
Exiting the small ATM room attached to the credit union, I nearly tripped over a medium-sized cardboard box. Surely, it had not been there when I arrived, and I had not seen anyone moving around outside. I was mildly irritated for losing my balance and was tempted to kick it aside and keep going.
But, an invisible inner force stopped my foot in mid kick. ”You are meant to find this box,” was what it said without a voice.
Gingerly, I knelt down, opened the box flaps, expecting nothing and found myself gasping. My eyes lit upon a tiny baby squirrel nestled in the corner, bright eyes open wide. It looked healthy but was clearly abandoned and alone.
Imagine what my heart did at that moment! The Ping Pong game vanished altogether, and a chuckle bubbled up from the depths of my belly. Ah, the cosmic irony of this moment, in light of my erstwhile dialogue back there in the yard. My achy-breaky heart had just been handed the medicine so skillfully prescribed!
“Baby animals, indeed,” I said to myself.
Picking up the box and its wee resident, I headed for the car. I knew what I had to do. A 20-minute drive through downtown Sarasota and across the old Ringling Bridge would deliver my precious cargo and me to the Pelican Man’s Bird Sanctuary. Blessedly, I remembered from previous trips there with rescued birds that they also took in injured or abandoned wild animals. They nurtured, healed, housed or released their charges as possible.
This baby was not for me to keep, I knew in my heart and soul, but it was mine to hold for a bit and to shepherd into its new future. Although my time with Rachel had been so much longer, I was struck with the realization that it was truly a similar mission: to hold, to care for, and then to release with love. I wondered if this furry little visitor also knew that it had come to perform a mission to me. Someone knew. I knew.
During the car ride, the blossoming of my heart continued apace. As a gifted one-handed driver, I tenderly lifted the infant from the box and held it close to my heart. It snuggled right in, making itself perfectly at home. I melted some more. Speaking softly into its tiny shell ears, I stroked its silky baby head with my thumb.
“Oh, baby, thank you for coming today,” I crooned. “I’ll take care of you. I love you, little one.”
I was almost embarrassed by my own gushing emotions, but mercifully, it really didn’t matter. The magic happening was all that mattered. Over and over, I whispered calm, soothing words, petting and kissing the velvety fur, feeling the rapid, little heartbeat. Glancing down, I saw the baby eyes close slowly into peaceful sleep.
There was no way that this divine message could escape me.
As I pulled into the sanctuary parking lot and stopped the car, I sat still for a few more precious moments. I savored the miracle of oneness, of true healing, of answered prayer. Then it was time. Holding the baby close and secure, I rang the bell and greeted the smiling volunteer.
“You’ll love this one. It’s an angel,” and with a smile of my own, I surrendered the baby.
My drive back over the bridge was graced with the dazzling spectacle of dancing sunlight on the turquoise bay. Resting my hand on my freshly opened, happy heart, I breathed in the essence of beauty. An infant’s smile of innocence crept fully over my face and I was totally filled with gratitude. Now, I felt connected with my own strong heartbeat, the baby squirrel’s phantom heartbeat and, wonder of wonders, the feeling of Rachel’s dear heavenly heartbeat next to mine. All as one.
My soul knew for sure it would ever be so. Heaven’s heart medicine is like that.
Sylvia Edmond is the founder of Touch For Animals, a practice focused on service to dogs and their people. Her work and personal experiences include many years as a psychotherapist, Licensed Massage Therapist for two-leggeds, grief counselor, petsitter and pet companion. Sylvia also offers grief counseling for end-of-life issues. As a former hospice bereavement counselor, she brings an especially tender touch and understanding to families that are anticipating or who have already experienced the loss of a pet. For more information visit: touchforanimals.com.