“Someday we will all be somewhere over the rainbow.”
I have been privileged to sit quietly with many beloved animals at the end of their lives — also lucky to have known them as they played; lapped up water with a slurp, slurp, slurp; didn’t eat their food and looked at me sideways as I said “eat your food”; gobbled their food; had a tummy ache; frolicked freely in a pasture to the giggles of onlookers; galloped fiercely over cross country jumps with fear and elation surging through my body; hatched from a tiny egg; were freed from the dredges of abuse, skin and bones standing atop five feet of manure; transported to warmth from frigid conditions; curled up on my couch; needed a thunder sheet as they aged, to calm their new fears; grabbed my hand with a chomp as I caressed their belly; and said goodbye when I didn’t want to.
These moments have all but defined my life. More than my career(s), my weight loss and gain, my elation, my hair color, my education, my relationships, my shoes, my age, my dramas, my boredom, my self-defeating behaviors, and my ever-evolving quest for enlightenment.
I have always been surrounded by animals. My mom would have said, if it had four legs, a mane and a tail, it was perfect to me. I suppose she was right. But that includes feathers and fur, maybe not so much scales, even though if it came right down to it, I’d sit with them too.
When I was growing up, we had three horses, three dogs, three cats, a goat, and for some time, a duck name Mr. Cratchet. I also befriended the garter snakes that lived beneath the rocks next to our outdoor pool, Mr. and Mrs. Francis and Baby Francis, who came out from the rocks when I called them. And, oh yes, when we cleaned the pool in spring, I always collected a few tadpoles to raise to toads and set free.
As a teen, finishing high school, my parents divorced and our family’s country home was sold. Sadly, my mom felt forced to make the horrifying choice to euthanize the two very aged horses who still lived with us. At the time, I didn’t understand this choice, and its effects burned a hole in me, a trauma with a lasting effect upon my life and choices.
All these years later, I still remember coming home to that empty barn, and every lost and lonely feeling it brought up. The worst part for me, besides the obvious, was that I wasn’t there for my beloved horses in their final moments. How frightened they must have felt, confused that a stranger had taken them from the home they had known for so long, without anyone they knew to comfort them, to whisper in their ears, and to share the incredible gratitude that existed just for knowing them.
As I write this piece, I still feel a lump in my chest and tears bumping against my eyes.
I would never again neglect to sit with an animal to hold a paw or hoof if I can help it, ever again, to say goodbye and to be there as they cross the rainbow bridge. No never again.
When I was born, guided I believe by some angel, my dad blessed me with a very special lifelong gift. He asked my cousin, who was 12-years-old on our shared birthday (the age you need to be to officially become a godparent) to be my godmother. Throughout our lives we have shared too-many-to-count coincidental mirror experiences that no-one could have planned.
She owns and runs a beautiful over 100+-year-old horse farm that she and her husband renovated, conceived, built, and loved into the incredible space that it has become. She too, has grappled with the hard decisions, sat with and held, many paws and hooves. There are never enough tears. Recently an evergreen gelding named Del crossed the rainbow bridge with my godmother holding space for yet another kind soul.
I believe if you choose this path, this sacred duty, it brings tears and heartbreak, but also all the love and joy that came before the bridge, complete with its trials and challenges, frustrations and failures.
It built resilience — showing me that being there is sometimes more important than having everything be perfect.
It enhanced my gift of empathy — already strong in me at a young age, I learned how to stay calm in the storm, quiet in the moment, and strong when it was time to fight.
It reinforced the idea that our greatest strengths are also our greatest weaknesses — a difficult but important lesson for me throughout my life. My softest, most kind gifts can be a detriment when pushed past their limits. Boundaries.
I have also been blessed to meet and work with energy healers over the years. An incredible group of people who not only have these gifts but are able to access them and direct them to help others — a skill I admire with great emulation.
In one particularly powerful session, I was lying in her treatment room, filled with trinkets from all over the world, beautiful colors, translucent fabrics covering the windows with streaks of sunlight stealing in. Tears filled my eyes and suddenly I was surrounded by the energy of every animal I have ever known and then some. I could see them, all the animals encircled me. They were calm and strong and filled with love. She said, they are all her to support you, they have come to be with you and will always be with you.
This moment I will always carry with me, and I will always be there for them, too.
Below the Paywall is a poem I wrote for a lovely gelding whose stall I had the honor to clean for many years. That is, he “allowed me” to “clean his room.” Ha. He wasn’t mine. I’m not sure he was anybody’s, but when he loved you, you knew, and when he didn’t, you knew that too.
