In Sight

Rest in peace Sweet Ruby Blue. We love you, Rubes, Rubypoluza, Bluby, The 100 Pound Lap Dog. You were a surprise. We thought we were only picking up your sister, Bayou, when we went to King Feed for a free puppy from an accidental litter six years ago. But when the woman brought you out too, how could we have denied you? Precious, beautiful, fluffy, tongue hanging out, sage-eyed dog-dog, we loved your silliness and playfulness immediately. You were not easy. You got so big so fast and had none of the skills we wanted you to have. You wanted to jump, and talk, and eat everything — a lot of things that were not food. You got sick in your first few months with us. Your dog body could not produce adrenaline properly. I had to keep watch over you for anything out of sync. If you did not get up right away when we opened a door or went to greet you, it was a reason for concern. You were hardly ever serious, other than being very serious about all the love you wanted to share and have returned. We expected you to come home the morning after your surgery. We expected you to come home the day after the longest night of the year to bring us your sweet light. When you didn’t wake up after surgery, all of us were so sad. We are so sorry to not have you here to bark at the doves that taunted you, to let the tiny moths rest on your nose, and to blow bubbles in the water trough, pool, or creek. You were the only dog I ever knew who thought a trip to the vet was a trip to the spa. More love and attention, that is all you ever needed or wanted. Every person who passed was potential for another pet or some gesture of love. We love you. We miss you.

Edmond and I used to sit on the deck with the Ruby and Bayou. This dove used to regularly walk on the ground just outside the dog yard. Ruby and Bayou, our two very vocal huskies, took this dove’s prancing as a personal affront. They barked and fussed at this dismissive dove. It was interesting and amusing, and yes, we laughed at our dogs’ angst-filled situation. 

The morning after Ruby died, I was walking her sister Bayou. About 500 feet in front of us there were several dozen doves sitting in the grasses along the road. I actually did not notice them there until they suddenly burst into a cloud of wings above us, startled by what could only have been Ruby’s Spirit. She finally got her day with the doves. I felt her in that moment, tearfully but also in laughter. It felt like a bit of forgiveness for all the ways I failed her and an acknowledgment of our love.

The other birds appreciated Ruby, or at least her fur. We would find nests lined with white and tan fluff. Ruby’s presence here will be missed or at least noticed by our whole ecosystem. Even the doves will miss her. 

I miss you sweet girl. We all do. And I imagine you found Edmond right away. Perhaps you were greeted by his beloved dog Akbar and our beloved Zeke-dog, too. I am guessing you are sitting on E’s lap like you used to try to do every single time he sat down. Love you so Big, love you Ruby Big.

I have no idea how we keep going, but we do. So many unexpected and enormous losses these last nearly nine months. I keep thinking I am out of capacity, or should be, but then we find more room to do the next thing, feel it, mourn the who and what of all that is no longer the same, here, and tangible. My children amaze me. We have learned about what helps, what brings comfort, and what allows us to release. It is different for each of us. What a crash course this year has been for them. We keep shedding what really doesn’t matter to do and be with what really does. Their ability to keep showing up for themselves and in relationships that meet them in that place relieves my mama-heart of some worry and concern. 

I once thought I could always see a positive way through for pretty much any situation. Living and doing the work of grief and loss personally and professionally, I know that sometimes things just suck. Sometimes the way through is acknowledging and speaking the truth of how terribly terrible some events and losses are. Everything does not have a silver lining. There may not be a positive side. This is part of living a whole life, a full course meal, not a cafeteria where we only choose the things we like and desire. 

Some losses and traumas transform us, and we can hardly remember what it was like or who we were before. After we have found our way through to the new foundation, sometimes the previous version of ourselves feels like another person entirely. This is true transformation, the unrecognizable parts of ourselves that have fully fallen away so that we can become the person we are today. What used to ache or plague us no longer does. 

And, some traumas and losses are a piece of shrapnel incurred, still shoved up under our skin, an unhealed wound, tattooed reminder, or a scarred-over place that comes with us into the next iteration of ourselves. We may not ever understand why we must carry the pain forward, even onto the next landing spot. We may carry it in our neck or shoulders, in our heart and belly, and in our bones. These are the parts calling us back to do the work, to stay, tend our tender places so we can live our purpose.   

There is so much more subtly, so many more layers and paradoxes these days. The reckonings of my past are not conclusions. It is not the final knowing, just a resting place after a fall or fail. It is another set of patterns to explore. It seems sometimes is a better position, and never and always hardly apply anymore. I find choosing to live in and consider the uncertainty in almost every situation to be my new normal. Uncertainty is beginning to feel more comfortable, more reliable. I feel a certainty in the uncertainty, and more at home in the flux. The shock and disappointment have a more difficult time wedging their way into my heart because my heart has already opened to something other than what I expect. I leave room for what I cannot imagine. This is not a glass half-empty approach. I am not becoming a cynic or a grouch. What has been happening and continues to happen are an initiation to seeing through the duality, being in the inside-outness of my circumstances. 

Ruby was the dog that constantly ate socks, paper, Kleenex, even cigarette butts if we were not quick enough on the trail. She was a composter of things not meant to pass through the digestive system. We had to be vigilant, and we could not guess what she might find appetizing. Taking her on walks put me inside Ruby’s perspective. I had to guide her and use the leash to keep her from vacuum inhaling whatever sparkle or shimmer caught her eye. She was also constantly losing her name tag. The last one I bought her was in the spring, after Edmond died. She lost it less than two months later. I kept asking her how anyone would know her name if she busted out and found herself far from home. She did not have an answer nor did she think it would be a problem. She flaunted her friend-making skills at me the last time I asked her about the tag.

We all went to say our goodbyes to her, including Bayou and even my sweet niece who was in town. We sat with her and loved on her, and remembered all the Ruby ways. When we returned home, William walked Bayou around to the back deck. On his way, Bayou pulled him through a particular cluster of trees. William noticed a blue flash in the soil, and reached down to retrieve Ruby’s name tag. I could hardly believe it, and then I could.  

Edmond, how can I do all of this without you here by my side? How am I still getting out of bed when I keep thinking that today is the day I won’t. And, I think that a lot. Yet, I get out of bed when the world calls me, when our children and dogs do. I feel your guidance and love and support, but it is hardly the same. I call friends to help me through parenting moments before I engage our children, or after I have done so and need to confess my failure and be absolved. This village-parenting is wise and loving, and I miss you like hell. We all do. I hope you and Ruby are getting in all the kisses and walks. In the other realm, I am sure she doesn’t hurt anymore, and is not prohibited by Addison’s Disease. I hope that means she is a full fur force there, jumping, leaping, talking her Husky talk, rolling around, and smiling her biggest smile. I am jealous again that you are there and I am here. I am jealous that you get the best of her. I am also glad you are there to greet her. I love you. I miss you like hell.   

I had a dream a few weeks ago that still perplexes me, takes me deeper into the mystery of this life. Edmond was standing behind me, very close. I could feel his body pressed up against mine. We were one form. I could not see him, but I could feel him there. We were closing and opening doorways, these portals that led to other places. Some doors were large and some smaller, several were low to the ground or waist high, and one was way up above my head, out of reach. Edmond could reach it, though. I could see his hands above us as he was trying to adjust the hinge to a rounded-at-the-top wooden door. The door was up in a tree surrounded by large limbs and leaved branches. Our children were behind this door, in a tunnel or hallway of sorts that I couldn’t see but knew was there. Edmond had to close the door to repair it so it could open again and let the light come through and allow our children passage. When he closed the door to make the repair, our children called out telling us they did not like the darkness. To soothe them while Edmond fixed the hinge, I said very gently, “If you don’t like the dark, close your eyes.”  

I am still contemplating this dream and this statement that came from my own lips. Certainly those words came through me from some wise source. And I am sure those words are as much for me as they were for my children in the dream. Closing my eyes when the world is too much, closing my eyes when what is before me is frightening, and closing my eyes to find my way relying on my intuition, my insight feels like another foothold. It feels like a clue or gift from within and from above. I do not know what I will find if I keep looking deeper within myself, but it is another part of this tangle ball path, maybe even the deepest center part of it. 

As much as decorating for Christmas has been purposeful, and made our home a place of comfort, it took so much to do the shopping. I usually love finding the right thing for each person. This year it is a terrible struggle. I hardly had anything ready for anyone until the last minute. Again, the village-parenting method showed up. Britt and I started a new tradition of shopping together and sharing a meal and a drink. And, did you see the Christmas Cactus in bloom, the one Amy gave me from a cutting that has been passed down in her family? The studio-office is the place the plants love. I cannot over-love them because I am not there all the time, so they seem to grow and blossom with just the right amount of love, water, darkness, and light. That space you granted me, the upstairs that we added on when we built the garage, is such a blessing. You said yes when I asked, and yes again when I asked that we build it all off-grid, solar and rainwater. You did not even hesitate even though it is not the most economical choice. You said yes to the adventure of depending on the sky for fire and water, sunshine and rain. I love you for saying yes to me. I am so glad I said yes to you. I love you. Yes. I miss you. 

I recently came across a quote from a Michael Meade book I read in graduate school.

“Instead of looking for a silver lining in the clouds, look for gold inside the dark. The soul has hidden within it the secret gold of a person’s life.” — A Light Inside Dark Times

There is no silver lining, but there is the gold of the souls we have known and of our own soul. Maybe if I close my eyes long enough I will find the golden insight, the very thing I am made of, the thing we are each made of. Having my own essence in sight, perhaps there in the gold I will find my constant comfort. It is not time to close my eyes for the last time, yet. I know I have to stay. I have purpose here, things to do that are important. But, maybe I will be able to close my eyes long enough to glimpse or steal a peek at this golden light of my own Beingness. Maybe with this golden soul light I will have the lantern I require for the times my eyes must remain open to what is frightening or painful. Surely this gold is the treasure we all long for and seek, often mistaking one shiny thing for the real thing, but knowing the difference when we have the elusive encounters with the Great Mystery, God, All there Is.

E, may you be in the Gold and of the Gold. May that part of you penetrate the veil as often as possible. Your light and my light long to meld into one again. For now, let’s meet in the golden places where we can see with our eyes closed every night. I love you Sweet Man. I miss you. See you tonight. 

Ruby Blue March 11, 2018 - December 21, 2023