Lucky Rose Burkley-7/12/95-10/15/09

On Thursday, October 15th, my sweet girl made her transition. She was 14 years, 3 months and 3 days old. She was the love of my life and my best friend in the whole world.

This past week has been one of the most intense weeks of my life. It was filled with moments of gut-wrenching grief, confusion, sleep deprivation, self doubt and physical exhaustion. It was also filled with moments of peacefulness and love so beautiful it could take your breath away. I will probably be writing about my experiences and insights for many weeks to come. There were just so many things I learned from the final phase of our journey and so many things I still need to process and understand.

This last phase of our journey started on Saturday, October 10th. Lucky's front legs gave out on her. I would stand her up and get the sling under her back end, but her front arms just couldn't hold her up. I was so worried. I massaged her arms, put ice packs on them, gave her reiki, and hoped that in the morning, her arms would be better.

When we woke up on Sunday, October 11th, things were not better. It wasn't just that her front legs still weren't strong enough to hold her up, it was something more than that. It's hard to explain, I just felt it in my bones and every time I looked at her, I teared up. I knew Lucky was getting ready to make her transition. She wasn't telling me in traditional ways . . . she still voraciously ate her breakfast and drank water but something told me the end was still coming. I cancelled all my appointments that day and decided to camp out on the floor with her and spend our last day together as peacefully as possible.

Sunday came and went and on Monday morning, Lucky was still here. I was confused because I thought my intuition was pretty good but clearly I had been wrong about her passing on Sunday. I figured Monday would be the day, so once again, we spent most of the day camped out on the floor together. I was having more difficulty moving her when she wanted to change positions or carrying her when she wanted to go outside to go potty. My back ached so much but I knew I needed to keep pushing through the pain, because my sweet girl needed me to be strong for the both of us. She still wanted to eat and drink, and while she was still trying to bark at me when she needed something, it didn't sound the same. It was more like she was singing to me, maybe because she wasn't inhaling as deeply for a bark.

Since I believe so strongly that animals come into our lives for a purpose, the only explanation I could come up with for why she hadn't passed yet was that she didn't feel her work here was done yet. I worried that maybe I was somehow holding her here, so I talked her again and again about how it was alright for her to go, that I would miss her with all my heart but that she had my permission and my blessing to get out of this body. I talked to her about all she had to look forward to once she was out of this body, that she would be able to run free, chase tennis balls, etc. I thanked her body for how hard it has worked to support her all these years, especially the last year.

I laid there on the floor with her, either in front of her so that we were face to face, feeling each exhale of her breath against my forehead, or behind her so she could feel loved by my embrace. At one point, on Monday afternoon, I felt a swell of love in Lucky's heart and I just knew she was seeing her mother. I don't see spirits, but from what I was picking up from Lucky, I had no doubt that her first mom was there to let her know it was safe to cross over.

It took me aback for a minute as I was overcome with emotion. It had been a long time since I thought about the fact that Lucky had a "mom" before I came into her life. I remember in our early years together, I consulted an animal communicator to try to get some help for Lucky. She told me that Lucky carried a deep sadness in her heart over her mother . . . that she still felt a great pain over being separated from her at such a young age and that she missed her terribly. It was one of the things that compelled me to help Lucky heal on an emotional level. I didn't want her to hold that sadness her whole life.

As tears streamed down my face, I asked Lucky to please thank her first mom for me, for allowing me to have the privilege and honor of filling in as "mom" all these years, that I hoped she was pleased with the job that I did and with love and gratitude, I was releasing Lucky back into her care. I cried and cried but it was with love and gratitude for the opportunity I had had to take care of her girl all these years.

When it was time to go to bed that night, I camped out on the floor with her again. I put a hand on her, so that I would be able to tell if she stopped breathing. I figured that after all our emotional talks, she would be ready to go, plus I could see the change in her eyes and how the skin on her face had become more taut. It was evident to me that she was beginning her transition. I tried to be as brave as I could, but the mixture of emotions I was experiencing was overwhelming. I didn't sleep very much, between the crying and having to get up for more kleenex but I was happy to be there, laying next to my best friend and hoped that she would go peacefully in her sleep.

Early the next morning, (Tuesday),I woke up to Lucky "singing" to me. I looked at her face and all the "signs" I had seen the night before were gone. Her eyes were bright again, the skin on her face was no longer taut. I had a mixture of emotions . . . I was happy she was still here, confused as to why she hadn't passed and exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster I was on, preparing for her departure, then switching gears to be in caretaker mode again, then once again preparing for her departure, then realizing she wasn't leaving yet and I still had a job to do to take care of her.

I tried to lift her up and I just couldn't do it, my back hurt so much. I went into the kitchen to make my coffee and her breakfast. I figured I'd just serve her breakfast in bed, but Lucky didn't seem to like that idea. She kept "singing" and it was clear she didn't want to be left alone in the bedroom. I decided my only option was to drag her bed, with her on it, into the dining room. I pulled the bed slowly, so she didn't fall off and we made it out of the bedroom, through the kitchen and into the dining area where Lucky always ate. She seemed pleased to be there and ate her whole breakfast, took her medicine, drank a bunch of water. Seeing her so content helped me tap into some reserve that must have still existed in my body and I was able to pick her up and carry her into the yard to go potty. Afterwards, I put her in her favorite spot in the hall and we spent most of the day there together.

As we laid there together, I wracked my brain trying to figure out why she hadn't made her transition. I couldn't figure out what she possibly had left to teach me, unless she wanted me to learn what it felt like to hit the wall. I started to worry that I was doing the wrong thing by allowing her to pass on her own. What if she needed help out of her body? What if by still being here, she was telling me she needed medical assistance to make her transition? I was so torn up inside, wondering and worrying.

It was a long day. I tried to make it as enjoyable for us as possible, playing music, talking to her, reminding her of all she had done for me and all I had learned from her. I fed her, gave her water, and helped her change positions whenever she wanted. I couldn't stop wondering what else I was supposed to learn, as on some level, I was sure that was why she hadn't passed yet.

Our evening was peaceful, she slept a lot and I enjoyed just feeling her breath on my forehead each time she exhaled. Around 11pm, I decided we should "get ready for bed" but I didn't have the strength to get her all the way into my bedroom, so I got some blankets and made a bed for myself next to her in the hall. I hadn't been able to fall asleep, because as I laid there listening to her breath, there were moments where her breathing would become more labored, then it would calm down again and be very gentle. I couldn't fall asleep because I was so focused on her breathing. Then around 1:45am, Lucky started "singing" to me. I got up and got her some water and she drank a lot. A little while later, she started singing again, so I figured maybe she was hungry. I got out a can of wet dog food and feed her spoonfuls, which she happily gobbled up. A little while later, she started to sing again and for the next few hours, it was a guessing game of what she might need. I flipped her over, thinking she wanted to lay on her other side but that just increased the "singing" even more and it was bordering on "yelling" . . . I flipped her back over, repositioned her, took her outside to go potty, repositioned her again, gave her more water, repositioned her again. By this time it was 5am. I still hadn't slept and I couldn't seem to make her happy.

It was at that point that I had a major melt down. I told her I didn't know WHAT she needed and sobbed as I told her how sorry I was. I felt like such a failure. I am an animal communicator and I couldn't figure out what my girl was asking for. I started to worry she was asking me to get a vet to help her out of her body. I couldn't tell what was fear and what was intuition. I didn't know what to do. I just sat on the floor and sobbed. I wanted it to be over, I didn't think I could do this anymore and at the same time, the idea of living without her was so overwhelming, I even prayed for a little while that I would go at the same time so I didn't have to live without her. My thought were becoming irrational and it felt like things were spinning out of control.

I finally fell asleep for a few hours and so did Lucky but the "singing" resumed by 8:30am. I got up, made my coffee and got the can of wet dog food. I sat on the floor, feeding her spoonfuls of dog food, with my head still swirling around. Just then the phone rang. It was one of my best friends calling to check on us. I said, "I need you to come over here, I feel like I am losing it and I need some help processing the jumbled mess in my brain." He said "I'll be right over" and as I hung up the phone, I kept hearing my voice say "I need you to come over here." It struck me that those were words that rarely passed my lips . . . "I need . . . " I hadn't thought about my own needs in so long, it felt foreign to think about myself. Maybe it was because I finally identified a need . . . I needed someone to help me get out of my head so I could get back in my heart and figure out what to do for Lucky. It is hard to explain but I felt something shift in the moment I asked him to come over. It was as if the energy around me was more opened, I could breath more deeply.

When he got there, he listened as I talked and cried and shared all the convoluted thoughts that had been swirling around in my brain. He asked me questions to help me try to get some clarity and then he just listened some more. Eventually, I could feel myself finding center again. I still didn't know what I was going to do but I felt more equipped to figure it out. Before he left, he helped me carry Lucky outside to go potty one more time, and helped me get her comfortably repositioned in the hall. As he was hugging me goodbye and telling me he would check on me again in a few hours, there was a knock at the door.

Much to my delight I opened the door to find another friend of mine, standing there with a bunch of gardenias from her yard that I love so much, and a bag of food. As one friend left, the other one stepped in and for the first time in days, I didn't feel alone. When I looked at the food she brought, my mouth started to salivate. I realized I hadn't eaten in at least a day. I devoured a sandwich she brought while I filled her in on everything that had happened the last 24 hours and how confused I was. She sat on the floor with me, petting Lucky and helping me continue to sort through the mixture of emotions I was experiencing. At one point, she said, "If Lucky wants help crossing over, you'll know it in your heart." Then she asked "If you imagine yourself calling a vet to come over and help her, how does that make you feel?" and I said "Sick to my stomach." She suggested maybe it was a sign that my intuition WAS right, that Lucky DID want to make this transition on her own, without medical intervention.

She stayed for several hours, helping me process my thoughts and feelings and we had some deep discussions about death and birth and how they are a natural part of life. She helped me become less fearful of the process of death, and see it for the natural step in a journey that it is. By the time she left, I was feeling so peaceful again and so was Lucky. I felt like I could finally "hear" my intuition again and it was telling me that we were on the right path, that Lucky wanted to make this transition without intervention. For the first time in at least 24 hour hours, my brain was still. I knew Lucky and I were going to get through this and that I just needed to be present for her and continue to show her that I loved her and that I was there.

While I was laying on the floor with her, the phone rang again and I heard another friend of mine leaving a message on the machine. She asked me to let her know if there was anything we needed, that she'd be happy to go to the store to pick something up for us. I felt so loved and so supported. Today was a very different day than the previous three days, with a steady stream of friends offering to help and I couldn't help thinking that something really HAD shifted when I told my friend that morning that I needed him to come over.

A few hours later, Lucky let me know she was hungry again, so I got the wet dog food for her. Spoonful after spoonful she ate and ate, until we were at the bottom of the can. I panicked for a minute, not knowing if I had anymore wet dog food. I ran to the pantry and looked and sure enough, there were no other cans of dog food in there. I was trying to figure out what I was going to do, worrying that Lucky would want to eat again and that I wouldn't have something for her, when I remembered the message on my machine. I called that friend and asked her if she could get some dog food for Lucky. She said, "Just tell me what Lucky's most favorite dog food is and I'll go get it right now." A feeling of relief washed over me. Then she offered to stay for a while, incase I needed to do anything, like shower or rest. I realized I hadn't showered in days and said I would love to do that while she kept Lucky company.

When she arrived with the dog food, Lucky happily ate several more bites and I was so glad I had called and asked for help. She stayed for several hours, laying on the floor with us, petting Lucky, and listening as I told her about what had been happening. Lucky and I both felt even more peaceful in her presence. I finally got a shower and then sat down with her again to enjoy the love and support we were receiving. When she was getting ready to leave she said, "Lucky, I am going to have to go now. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?" and I heard and felt Lucky's response with such clarity, I couldn't believe I had doubted myself as an animal communicator. My friend looked at me and said, "I know it had something to do with you but I am not sure what" and I told her that Lucky said, "Just take care of my mom for me." We both cried. I have been so focused on caring for her and focused on my love for her, that I forget sometimes that she loves me as much as I love her.

That night was the most peaceful night Lucky and I ever had. I had a hand on her all night as we slept and I actually slept for chunks of time long enough for me to dream. I was at peace with where we were and I know she was too. I was just going to be there with her until she was ready to go and I was no longer feeling anxious about if or when it was going to happen. I was just going to be there for as long as she needed me to be and savor the peacefulness that we both felt.

On Thursday morning, I got up and made coffee. I brought water over to Lucky and she lapped and lapped at the water, but I noticed there didn't seem to be less water in the bowl. I offered her some wet dog food and she had a tablespoon and then didn't want anymore. I offered her more water and again she was eager to drink but she didn't seem to be getting any. I found a dropper and started putting water in her mouth that way. She seemed pleased with that.

I spent most of the morning and afternoon on the floor with her although I would get up from time to time to check email, or put some laundry in but I would always find myself gravitating back to my make-shift bed on the floor in the hallway, putting dropper fulls of water in her mouth, giving her rescue remedy and rubbing essential oils on the pads of her feet.

The only lingering stress in the back of my head was the fact that the subdudes were in town that night and the next. I had never missed a show when they were in California and I was a bit conflicted about my desire to be with Lucky and my desire to see my favorite band. I asked the friend who delivered the dog food if she or her husband would be willing to stay with Lucky if I decided to go to the show . . . the way things had been going with Lucky hanging on and hanging on, I knew there was a chance she could last until Sunday, so maybe it would be ok to go out on Thursday night, I thought. They of course said they would be more than happy to stay with her if I decided to go. I didn't know what I wanted to do, I just kept finding myself back on the floor with Lucky, resting my head on her shoulder, reminding her of how much she meant to me and how deeply I loved her.

A little after 4pm, the friend of mine who I had first ask for help from the day before came by to check on us and see if I needed anything. He brought me something to eat and was willing to just listen to me, which again was such a gift. I kept thinking about how nice it had been to feel so much love and support the last couple of days, to have people around who were honoring this journey with Lucky and I and letting us both know we weren't alone. I wondered if that was Lucky's final lesson for me . . . that if I was willing to focus on what I needed and say it out loud, it would shift the energy so that more love and support could come my way, that more people would come forward and be present in the way I needed them to be. I am determined to not lose the lesson if that's why she lingered here so many days . . . . patiently waiting for me to finally get it.

One thing for sure was that I was so grateful for the peacefulness that seemed to surround Lucky and I. Around 4:30 that afternoon, I finally got clear on what I was going to do . . . I was staying by Lucky's side that night and I was going to skip the subdudes show. There wasn't an ounce of regret in that decision. It just felt right. With her was where I wanted to be and I told her what I had decided.

My friend stayed for a while and visited. I was sitting on the couch with him but I kept finding myself getting up to check on Lucky and ensure she was still breathing. When he needed to make a phone call, I went to lay down next to Lucky again. I saw her arm twitch and realized she was taking her last breath. She was so peaceful. I put my hand on her heart and I could feel a couple more faint heart beats and then she was gone. No gasping for breath, no whimpering, she just drifted away as peacefully as she had been all day.

For as emotional as I had been all week, and for as fearful as I was about how I would handle this part, I didn't fall apart like I thought I would. I thought there was a chance my grief would swallow me up but instead I just felt peace. I said "I love you, I love you, I love you, baby girl" as I kissed her nose, her forehead and the crown of her head. We had been given five days to say everything we needed to say, there was nothing more that needed to be said. She was the love of my life and she knew it. I felt relief that she was free of her body, I felt blessed to have shared the journey with her and grateful that we had experienced so much peace the last two days. I knew in the coming days and weeks, my heart was going to hurt like hell, but at that moment, it was alright. I laid on the floor with her for a little while, while my friend helped me think through my next steps and determine if there was anything I needed before he left.

As he was about the leave, there was a knock on the door. It was the same friend that showed up the last time he was leaving and once again, they passed the baton of support. She had brought over some essential oils to help ease Lucky through this part of the process but I had to tell her it was too late. She asked if it would be alright if she sat with Lucky for a while and I welcomed it. For several hours she sat with us, petting Lucky and listening to me, as I recounted all that we had experienced since she had been there last. Her love and respect for Lucky and I and what we had been through gave me so much comfort.

For most of my journey with Lucky, I have felt like we were in it alone . . . that it was up to us to keep powering through . . . especially in the last year, that feeling was even more intense . . and I found it so beautiful that in her final days, at the end of our journey, when I needed the support the most, we were finally not alone at all.

The next day, another friend came over to help me transport Lucky to Monterey Bay Loved Pet, where she is to be cremated. His compassion and support was amazing. After helping me through the emotional task of putting Lucky in the car, he drove us to Salinas. We took my car, so that I could sit in the back seat with Lucky and just enjoy my last bit of time with her. Even though I knew she wasn't in there anymore, I realized how much I loved her body, and wanted to have the time to thank it and honor it one last time.

After we got back from Salinas and my friend ensured that I was ok being back home without her, he got ready to leave . . . but not before extending an invitation to join he and his wife and daughter for a home cooked meal at their home that night. I told him I wasn't sure what I wanted to do but that I would let him know. I was feeling a little numb and wanted to just keep moving, so I started picking up all the towels and blankets that have covered my floors for months and months. I got the first load of laundry going and was just kind of wandering around the house trying to decide if there was anything else I needed to do.

Just then the phone rang and it was yet another friend . . . the one who happened to introduce me to the subdudes music 19 years ago. He called to express his condolences and then asked me if I wanted to go with him to see the subdudes. I knew immediately that that was what I needed to do. I knew Lucky would want me to go. I jumped in the shower and 1/2 hour later, he came by to pick me up.

When we got there, it was clear that everyone knew why I had been mysteriously absent from a subdudes show at Moe's Alley the night before. All the local subdudes fans who I have become friends with over the years offered their condolences and let me know they understood how big of a loss this was for me. It was a little emotional, but when the band started playing, I was once again sure I was exactly where I was supposed to be. With each song, I felt lighter, freer and more grounded all at the same time. I sang, I danced, and my heart felt full. And at the end of the show, each band member took the time to hug me and let me know how sorry they were that Lucky had to go. Once again, I felt loved and supported and I kept thinking about the beautiful role Lucky had played in my life up until her very last day.

For as much as my heart aches, I know that I am the one who was truly lucky.