Letting Go…

It was on the heels of a full moon, and the wind blew all day in intermittent waves of intensity. One minute I’d be standing and the next minute holding onto something. Then it would waft through so gently that I’d pause just to feel the wind caress my face.

Around noon, I checked on my 17 1/2-year-old beagle, Alfie. He is a true sweetheart and very beagle-y with his barking and howling. Many times he has alerted me to a potential problem that he spots and I don’t. Alfie has always been a step ahead of me.

I found him sleeping on an ottoman, peacefully snoring and occasionally moving his legs. When I sat beside him and started stroking his soft ears, he opened his eyes and jumped.

“It’s me! It’s me!” I said quickly. His cloudy eyes followed the voice he knows so well, searching for that familiar connection. To be honest, I’m not sure he knew it was me or just someone familiar.

I felt nostalgic sitting there with him, remembering how he came to me through a field when he was only 3 months old and how, over the years, he has consistently shown me how to live life — full of curiosity and adventure. Alfie has proven to be incredibly aware, loyal, patient and unwaveringly kind — all that I aspire to be.

My eye fell on a table holding many urns filled with ashes of animals that have passed. It is a table reserved for those special beings who have crossed my path and have graced my life in countless ways. For some reason, I have not been able to determine the best way to release them.

“I’ll know what to do with their ashes one day soon,” I told myself. I turned toward Alfie, who was already fast asleep in dreamland, and quietly closed the door.

I’m not sure what happened that afternoon, but for some reason I felt a strong urge to go back to that urn table. I stood in front of my precious animals — dogs and cats — corralled together, waiting for their final resting spot. So many memories. So difficult to let go.

I heard the wind outside as it kicked up and swirled around. It felt as if it were calling me.

“Well,” I thought to myself, “this might be the perfect time to release and let go.” After all, I had been in the process of letting lots of things go since the beginning of the year — relationships, outdated dreams, old patterns. Yes, 2020 has been the year of waking up and getting in touch with what’s important, what we value most.

One by one, I gently scooped them up and carried them outside to a beautiful area filled with pine trees and a carpet of pine needles. When I picked up the first urn, I knew this had become a sacred ceremony. Each urn represented a soul who had once been a precious member of the family. Tears began to flow freely as I recalled special moments, warm hugs, sweet faces. As the wind gently spirited them away, I couldn’t stop the welling up of all the sadness, grief, loss and disappointments I had been clinging to.

It was time to let it it all go.

I picked up the now empty urns and turned around. I saw Alfie watching me intently. I don’t know how long he had been there, but he was standing steady and strong — holding the space for it all. The animals had been trying to help me that day. They were saying, “It’s okay to let go because you will never lose the connection you had to each one of us. You can never lose the love.” What an important reminder for us all.

To Socks, Remy, Barney, Charlotte, Henry, George, Sands, Snoopy, Oliver, Megan, Tally, Jack and dear Bailey, thank you for sharing your beautiful spirits with me.

And to Alfie — beagles really are pure magic.