Well...today, I am feeling a bit different. It's been a few weeks since I blogged. I want to pull back the curtain a little bit and share something more personal.
Here goes.
I was out recently at dinner with a dear friend, and we were catching up on things. I had recently celebrated a birthday, turning 43, I found myself having BIG shifts in consciousness about how I want to continue grief and loss coaching. The past 2 months held big dates for me. April was the anniversary of my dog's transition, my mother's suicide. May marked the end of my marriage. These markers were a gift to let go some more.
Maybe it's the reminder of my 3.5 year old toddler talking about the upcoming transition of our beloved 17 year old Casey. Maybe it's learning about a friend's relapse with cancer that jogged life's preciousness. Maybe it is the shared experience with a friend who's father passed away this week, and holding her hand as she went through it. Maybe, who knows right?
Anyhow, the important part, is I am here. And I have been listening to what my clients have saying the past few years about loss. "I wished I knew about you when this was happening..."
And I wanted to shout out...I wished I knew you then too! I could have help make that experience a more peaceful and loving one.
It has made me think about revamping the way I do business based on what YOU have told me you need.
But, in order to do that, I realize I can't do it alone.
I have been holding back on asking, because I was nervous about sharing more of myself from this deep place of knowing, holding the vision and....
The truth is, I am going to need your help.
At conferences, networking events, cocktail parties, parties, playgroups, I met many of you who shared your loss experience. I listened. I compiled notes. I hibernated this last month to create.
Now, I think I am ready to share it. But I need your help to do it.
I will be back with more details in a few days about this from grief to love program.
Meanwhile, I would LOVE your input. Can you share with me a situation where you found yourself grieving, having to make a life changing decision (like when it is time to say goodbye to a dear pet), or going through the thick of it with a divorce, where you could have really used some support?
In service,
Claire
I am happy to share my story to help you Claire in all that you do for people and pets.
ReplyDeleteMy first dog, Max, passed in July last year. It was rough. Max was a Sharpei, Chow, Lab rescue. Cute, hyper, lovable, and loud, he came into my life when I was 3 months pregnant with my first child. He never was trained well. I was overwhelmed with a colicky baby and barky dog. Shortly there after, my mother became VERY ill with metastasized Breast Cancer. It was rough.
Max had Sharpei Fever. When he did anything too strenuous, he spiked a 105 fever leaving ameloid deposits in his kidneys. A short life was to be expected. The meds for pain in his swollen Sharpei joints caused his Sharpei eyes to get entropic and his Sharpei skin to get sores. We found a natural route to help him.
Max learned from my husband's hound Maya. She was a 14 yr old lab/malamute with cancer. When we put her down I wasn’t sad. Maya wasn't MY dog. She was a huge cute-but-cumbersome furry snoring hassle that belonged to my husband. Max missed her when we said goodbye, as did my son who was then 3. My son cried more over losing Maya than my Mother who had passed a few months prior. He cried more over Maya than my Grandmother, who passed only a few months after. I am grateful of the gift of grief she gave him during these difficult transitions in our family. I was short on words.
I had counseling to deal with my Mother’s death, the stress of being a mother of two, and being married. I was a basket case. When asked to speak at her memorial, I was seething with anger. She was my best friend and I needed her! It has taken me five years to talk about her without getting a lump in my throat.
Last year, during our 4th of July trip to Mt. Shasta, Max got really ill. He had been weakening from his 8 years of Sharpei Fevers. He was drinking a lot of water and not retaining it. In 24 hours, he went from happy hound to bi-lateral pneumonia. We were far from home, but found a VCA in Redding. They thought something rare called San Joaquin Valley Fever had caused the pneumonia. His Sharpei Fever gave him a form of hound HIV that lowered his immunity. He went down fast.
I spent 48 hours monitoring his decline. As a holiday camping guest at my in-laws', I was a wreck. The last 20-mile mountain drive got me there just after Max had passed. These wonderful rural vets let me stay with him for as long as I liked, sobbing over him for almost an hour. With their help, I took a cutting of his fur, molded his paw, and picked a simple cedar box for his ashes.
We had to leave then. Our vacation was over. It was a sad 10-hour drive home with both children (8 & 4) full of difficult questions. Max had been with us on the drive up, and now he wasn’t. We didn’t even have his box. Coming home to an empty house with no barking and tap-tapping all around was tragic. We all felt it. The emptiness. None of us knew how to grieve.
I called Claire. Right away she brought over a memory candle. Her wise consult calmed me. Max arrived a couple of days later. We lit his candle and passed him around the table while each of us told a story. My daughter laughed at all the hairclips and bows she had put him in. My son thought fondly of walking the ill-trained Max and coming home with a bloody nose. My husband remembered him as a pup on my pregnant belly. Max was my evil genius. We liked to say he was “really, really good looking.”
The tears that came for Max were true. I realized that I was crying for many things, my mother mostly. My anger had finally turned to sorrow. I was grateful for the tears that would let her go. Away from the horrid, downward spiral of her illness, I was finally able to weep with love. I cried over the stress of raising my brilliant, difficult son. Tears fell for my lovely girl and all that she gives me. I wept over the gift of my husband, who has stood by me and given so much.
Thank you, Max. Thank you too Claire.
I think the paradox of grief is that it so personal that we often isolate ourselves when what is most helpful is reaching out for support and sharing our story so we don't feel so alone. Claire, your expertise in grief support, providing a safe, sacred place for people to cry, feel their feelings, commemorate their loss, and recognize their own strength to create a new reality, are just some of your amazing gifts.
ReplyDeleteSweet Claire, I am so thankful for your beautiful story as it allows me to see you and know that we are all more alike then we are different.
ReplyDeleteThe feeling of helplessness, sadness and questioning if we were doing the right thing with our beautiful yellow lab - Cody was at times enough to stop me in my tracks. Our sadness was so intense and our hearts so heavy. Our decision to allow our dog to pass was made 2 days in advance and those 2 days were the longest days that I've experienced. We were waiting for our daughters to try and get home and in doing so, we had many hours to photograph our dog, laugh with our dog and love him just as we did every day of his life.
And during those 2 days, we shut down and didn't know where to turn or who to turn to. I am so grateful that I knew I could turn to you. You are special Claire and your gifts are special and I wish only that everyone could experience your caring heart.
I adore you and am thankful.
Debbie