The Story of Mojo

We lost our dog Ember in May.

I wrote about her death after she was hit by a delivery truck in our driveway.

I wrote about forgiving the driver.

I wrote about how I handled her death and held her body and buried her in the center of my medicine wheel garden.

I haven’t yet written about the solo, 3600 mile, healing pilgrimage that I made to sacred places in Minnesota, South Dakota, Wyoming and Montana after her death.  But, I will.

I’m not overstating it when I say that her death and the circumstances surrounding her death were some of the most painful and transformational events of my life.  There was something mystical about it.  Here is the next chapter:

On June 1^st, while I was wandering around Badlands National Park, breathing in the energy and working on clearing my heart of the oppressive grief that I felt, 5 puppies were born in Colorado.  They were Jack Russell Terriers from the same family as our dogs Chili (also a devastating loss in 2013), Junior and Ember.

My friends Darlene and Mike, sent me photos of the new puppies. They were also grieving Ember’s loss along with us.  She was ‘their dog’, too as she had come from their kennel.

I had no desire for a puppy anytime soon.  The wound was still too raw. I wanted to take plenty of time to allow the grieving process to unfold.  I knew that healing would happen with time.  We would be a one dog family for a year or so.

When these puppies reached about 6 weeks, Darlene told me that one of them, a little boy, had a heart murmur and needed to be checked out by a cardiologist.  Many times puppies will outgrow a minor heart murmur and so I wished her well and didn’t think about it again.

A week later, she had an appointment with a specialty clinic in Denver to have him checked out. Driving to the clinic, she was caught in traffic.  An accident had closed the freeway and she wasn’t able to get to the appointment.

Frantically, she called a terrier owning friend who recommended another specialty clinic north of Denver with a great cardiologist and she was able to get an appointment.

At that clinic, they were told that “Dipstick” as they’d started calling him due to his black tail, was in congestive heart failure. He had a large hole in his heart.  Surgery, costing thousands of dollars was the only thing that would save his life.  He was 9 weeks old.

They admitted that they just couldn’t swing that amount of money for the pup.  It was a horrible decision to have to make, but the cardiologist was so taken with Dipstick, she said they would do the surgery, no charge.   Out of the blue.  Just like that.  They said, “we’ll save him”.

And they did.  As soon as he was out of surgery, his BP and heart rate were normal. He was up and eating within 24 hours.  A miracle.

The docs said the hole was so big that they couldn’t fix it laparoscopically; they had to open him up and use sutures to close the hole in his heart.  The entire team was in the operating room, watching and rooting for “Dippy” as they called him.

I had no idea that all of this was happening, other than being told that he needed this surgery and that this group of wonderful angels had offered to save his life.

I was telling my husband this story and told him that once he was healed, they would place him in a good home.  He said “Did you raise your hand?”  This comment was from a man who fought me on every single puppy that I’ve brought home.  Who declared loudly after every pet loss, “NO NEW DOGS”.

I hadn’t spoken one word about a new puppy after we lost Ember.  It was still too painful for me and I knew what his reaction would be.

So, the next morning, I meditated on this.  I had decided that we should wait on another puppy. I was hoping for another girl dog.  I didn’t think we had taken enough time to grieve and adapt to our new normal.

But, as I sat in meditation, I heard this: “You all have a hole in your heart and so does he.  You can heal your hearts together”.  Truly.  That is exactly what came to me.

This little dog was full of magic.  He had such a strong spirit to survive for so long with a hole in his heart.  His spirit reached out and grabbed a group of veterinarians when they saw him and propelled them to do a wondrous and compassionate and extraordinarily generous thing.  That is some very good mojo.

I have no doubt that part of that strength and part of that charm came from Ember’s spirit visiting him.  I see Chili’s sweet, wise soul in his eyes.

Mojo saw his docs last Thursday and they declared him cured.  Fixed.  Ready for a long and vivacious terrier life. I’m told some of them had tears in their eyes when they saw how lively and happy he is with his strong, healthy heart.

There is something mystical about this story.  When I weave it all together and see the unseen forces working to bring this pup to us, I’m in awe.

Had he not been sick. Had Darlene not missed the first appointment.  Had I not sat in meditation.  And yes, had we not lost Ember.  Life is so uncontrollable and mixed up and perfect.

He will come to live with us very soon.  He has to.  Spirit wouldn’t have it any other way.

Hey 2013! You kinda sucked…..

Dear 2013:

I’m glad you’re nearly done.

I wrote a glowing review of 2012, 364 days ago. I was sitting in my kitchen in Colorado, reflecting on a year that brought a sea-change to my life.  That sea-change was internal; I put my life and my beliefs into a salad spinner and formed a new way of seeing things.  I called 2012 “my year of living honestly”.

You were supposed to be my year of “walkin’ the walk”.  The year that I took what I learned about myself in the previous year and instituted the new life.  It went from being internal and spiritual to physical, geographical and real.

You’ve been a bitch, 2013.  And I take partial responsibility.  The strategies that got me to the tipping point of changing my life went out the window once the changes really started physically and emotionally happening.  Meditation fell by the wayside, exercise was put on the back burner, I allowed my control freak tendencies to creep back in and settle into a spare bedroom in my brain.

One step forward, two steps back…or is that two steps forward, one step back.  Maybe I’ll have a clearer picture of that concept as 2014 unfolds.

I’m an optimist.  Really.  I think that things will work out just fine in the end.  I’m also a pragmatist and a planner.  Once I commit to something, I’m pretty much all-in and often that means that I can power through problems and snags and barricades like a tank.  But, that takes a toll.

The last 6 months contained a fair number of hurdles.  Selling a house, moving 1500 miles, realizing that a 10 acre farm requires a lot of maintenance, constant nickel and dime problems with the new house, working remotely and feeling cut off from friends and co-workers, the sudden illness and death of one of our dogs, being the new folks in a small, rural community and finally, living close enough to my parents to witness their age-related decline.

These were not in my plan and it felt like being caught in an avalanche or a monster wave.  I told my husband after the death of our dog, which felt like the final straw, that I had lost my mojo.

That little internal spark that I’d always had that kept me going through challenges; the core belief that everything works out.  That my internal, anti-skid control will right my course very soon.  All of that was gone and I ended up in a deep ditch, spinning my wheels.

It seems that you were my year of cold, hard reality.  Of loss and grief.  But, that’s my glass-half-empty view and I’m a glass-half-full kind of gal.  Right now, I’d look at the glass and say “there’s enough liquid in there to wash down an Advil”.  I’ll take what I can get.

So, 2013, you gave me a beat down, but we all know that growth comes after destruction.  I’m feeling a few little stirrings of my mojo returning.  It’s walking up the driveway, through the snow and will eventually ring the bell and want to come in.

I can speed that mojo up by getting back into my meditation practice, cleaning up my diet, and firing up a more regular exercise routine.  I can embrace the changes that I put in motion, including those that were not included in my master plan.

So, goodbye 2013; I’m grateful for your lessons and your time, but you’ll stick in my craw for a long time.

Now get out.

Jane