Lost Memories

A week ago, when I was digging through my office files looking for the copy of the letter I sent to my mom when I was a little girl, I came across something else that stopped me in my tracks. It was a file folder with notes from some sessions I had with an animal communicator back in 2002 and 2003, when apparently, some scary things were going on with Lucky and I was looking for help.

It was the strangest experience . . . sitting there looking at the notes I took, looking at the dates written on the top of the papers, looking at the notes again, then looking at the dates again, trying to get the pieces of my memory to click into place. At first, I couldn't square up what I was reading with what I remembered. The strange thing is, I have always had a really good memory. I even have a couple of old boyfriends that would say my memory works a little too well :-) so it was hard for me to believe there were whole chunks of my life with Lucky that had slipped my mind but apparently, that is what had happened.

I have always remembered that the first three years Lucky and I had together were challenging . . . the way she threw up and dropped to the ground when she saw or heard another dog, her intense fear of various sounds, etc. as well as the early health challenges we were faced with. In my mind though, once we got through those first three difficult years, it was pretty much smooth sailing for us . . . but the notes I was reading were telling me that wasn't the case. The reality was, Lucky and I had a really rough patch from 2001-2003.

I spent several days wracking my brain, re-reading the notes I took, trying to put timelines together, and slowly, the pieces all started to come together. It was so odd to me that I didn't remember and I wondered if I had blocked it out on purpose or if I just forgot it because it wasn't important any longer. It was just so weird to me, to find that there was a whole chunk of my life with Lucky I had forgotten about, when I was so sure I remembered everything. Slowly, little snippets began popping into my head, and I would remember this event or that event and eventually, the picture started to become more complete.

This bad spell occurred from when Lucky was seven to almost nine years old. Prior to that, things had been going pretty well for us. We were in our groove, able to go to parks and be around dogs. We could go just about anywhere and Lucky seemed comfortable and then all of the sudden, Lucky's fears came back with a vengeance. She seemed to be afraid of all sorts of new things and her fears were 100x more intense than they had been when I first adopted her. I remember feeling totally over my head and completely helpless to help her.

One of the memories that finally popped back into my head was the day we were driving on 280. Lucky was in the back seat where she always sat. For seven years, she laid perfectly still in the back seat . . . unless she wanted to put her head out the window, but she even did that in a very lady-like fashion, gently pressing her nose against the glass until I noticed and pushed the button to make her window go down. The car was the one place where I never had to worry about Lucky. She was always so calm and perfectly well behaved. From the first moment I drove away from the shelter with her in the back seat, we had never had a single issue in the car.

On this particular day, something frightened Lucky and she freaked out to the nth degree. With every ounce of strength and determination she had, she was trying to launch herself into the front seat and down under my legs where the gas pedal, brake and clutch were. We were going probably 70 mph at the time and with my right arm, I was trying to push her back into the back seat, while still trying to keep an eye on the road in front of me and steer. I knew I needed to get off the freeway and stop the car, but it was all happening so fast, I could barely think. I remember being in a state of panic myself, as she struggled against me, trying to get herself into the foot well below my knees, knocking the car out of gear at one point, while she was slobbering and drooling all over the place, her eyes wild with fear. It was one of the scariest experiences I had ever had. Fortunately, we safely made it off the freeway and no harm had come to us or anyone else but I remember being dumbfounded by what had occurred. I couldn't understand why this was happening now.

I think that was the beginning of this scary phase we went through. Suddenly, sights and sounds that never frightened Lucky before were causing her to become unglued. Her behavior was erratic, inconsistent and unsettling. It was as if everything I knew, everything I had come to expect was no longer the case. She was reacting to things with such intensity, I didn't know what was going to happen from one minute to the next and it was unraveling me as well.

I used to love watching basketball games on TV but during this time every time I watched a game, Lucky would go from resting comfortably by my feet, to wild-eyed darting around the house, followed by wedging herself into the far back end of my bedroom closet, panting and drooling all over the place, hiding for hours at a time. It took about three times for me to realize it was the sound of the referees whistle that was causing that reaction. Shortly after that, I realized there were commercials on TV that had whistles blowing in them and her reaction would be the same. While I came up with a couple of solutions (watching basketball games with the mute button on, and taping any TV program I wanted to watch, so I could fast forward through the commercials), it wasn't addressing the root cause. Why was she suddenly so afraid of sounds that didn't use to bother her? It felt like someone had pulled the rug out from under us.

Every day there seemed to be new sights and sounds that caused her to unravel. When we were at the park, suddenly the sight of a baseball bat was now causing her to freak out. She would start running out of control, trying to get out of the park as quickly as possible, often running into the street and into the pathway of oncoming cars in an attempt to get away from what frightened her. It felt like things were spinning out of control and I didn't know what to do to help her. I was constantly on edge, wondering when she was going to become unglued next. I was afraid to take her in the car, afraid to take her to the park, afraid to watch TV. All of the things that used to be enjoyable activities for us were suddenly potential mine fields.

It was a horrible time for us. Lucky was scared out of her mind for one reason or another most days and nothing I did seemed to help her. My instinct was to try to comfort her but she was inconsolable in those moments. She didn't want to be touched, she wanted to be left alone which left me feeling even more inept to take care of her. Reliving those old memories this past week, I can kind of see why I blocked them out.

It was during this time that I began seeking help from an animal communicator. Re-reading my notes from those sessions made my heart ache, as I reconnected with those old memories and the things she told me about Lucky. She told me that Lucky had wanted to die when she was in that dumpster (where she had been discarded after months of being used as pitbull bait for a dog ring) . . . that she was so close to dying and so happy that her life was finally coming to an end . . . she was looking for the sweet relief of death . . . and then she was rescued . . . and part of her was disappointed that she had lived. She told me that when Lucky was being attacked, a tiny part of her soul hid out in her body, trying to stay safe and when she was rescued, that part of her soul had never come back out, that it was disconnected from the rest of her. She told me Lucky had experienced a death trauma and it was hard for her to find a peaceful place. She said Lucky didn't feel comfortable being in her body because when she was in her body she would have flashbacks to her early experiences. She told me that on a scale of 1-10, Lucky's fears were at an 11.

She also told me that Lucky was here for a purpose, to be my guide, my teacher and my friend but that she couldn't guide me if she wasn't in her body. If Lucky was going to be able to live out her life's purpose with me, she was going to need to find a way to feel safe in her body.

She also told me that Lucky would live to be nine years old. Lucky was seven years old when this first started happening and I remember thinking that there was no way in hell I was going to let her experience this kind of fear in the last two years of her life. I had no idea how I was going to help her overcome her fears, but I was determined to find a way. I remember my fear being as intense as my determination and I remember thinking I just had to find a way to help Lucky through this.

As I poured over my notes from the sessions with the animal communicator, I was propelled backwards in time . . . slowly remembering that time in our life. I could feel my throat tightening up as I read all the thing she told me about Lucky's early experiences . . . how loud booming sounds reminded her of the sound the men would make to "start the fight" . . . so whenever she heard a loud boom, she automatically assumed she was about to be attacked. She also told me that the men had beaten her with bats to keep her submissive, which explained her reaction to seeing bats.

The thing that didn't make sense to me, and probably still doesn't make sense today, is why all this trauma came up when she was seven. To this day, I have no idea what triggered it, why it had been relatively dormant for so many years and then came on like a freight train so many years later. I kept looking through the notes, looking for answers or insights.

One of my notes said, "It's coming to a head now and it's time to be done with it" . . . at the time, I thought it only referred to Lucky but looking back on it now, I realized some of my own things were coming to a head as well.

I also wrote: "Let her know that no matter what happens, I'm there for her. Let her know I'll be strong and hold the space for her, so she can fall apart." There was that term again "Hold the space" - I never knew where that term came from, but in the last year, it's something that has been on my mind a lot . . . wanting people to "hold the space" for me . . . it felt strangely comforting to see the term written in my notes from all those years ago and to see how important it was to Lucky's healing that I "hold the space" for her.

Another notation said: "She wants you to GET her experience. She barely made it here by a thread, the damage was so severe and she needs you to really understand how she feels when something scares her." Until that time, I think I had always focused on trying to understand WHY something scared her, instead of just accepting the fact that it did. I had to work at relaxing my analytical side and just being present and focusing on WHAT she felt, which wasn't always easy, but I did the best I could. Over time, I realized it was what I needed from others as well.

She brought up the volunteering I was doing and said she didn't sense I got any joy out of my work with the animal rescue organization. I remember telling her I got involved because I wanted to help animals . . . and I shook my head in disbelief when I looked at my notes and it said, "Your work with animals should be of a healing nature, not as a board member." At the time, I thought she was referring to Lucky specifically when she mentioned healing. I didn't realize she was guiding me to my new career path.

There was another section in the notes that I can see now was an impetus for change for me. It said "You and Lucky have both abandoned yourselves. You both need to be #1 but she won't be back until you get back on track. Your energy is all over the place." She also said that my intuition was trying to speak to me but that I wasn't listening.

It was something I knew about myself but had never fully acknowledged. My energy was all over the place . . . I never stopped moving, never stopped "doing" . . . and it was becoming clear to me that it had been a coping mechanism. I over worked, I over volunteered, on some level I was afraid to be still. I think I was afraid of what I would see if I looked at my own life. I knew I had some of my own "old stuff" to deal with but I hadn't wanted to face it. I also knew I was NOT going to be the reason Lucky didn't progress past that point. If I needed to "get back on track" so that she could get back on track, that was what I was going to have to do.

I can see now what I turning point this was for both Lucky and myself. For the first time in my life, I took a good look at myself. I took everything apart, I questioned everything, I started making changes. I began learning how to be still. I knew I needed to figure out how to make myself emotionally healthier, so that Lucky could be emotionally healthier. It was up to me and I guess there's no question now about how the relationship I had with Lucky became so intense and why I felt such a tremendous responsibility to her.

As I tried to remember what happened in the subsequent years, I could see how the pieces fell into place. I started with a class in T-touch, so I could better help Lucky. I quit volunteering for the animal rescue group, then I quit being on the Board of my HOA. As I took things off my plate, I was able to make better choices about what I wanted to put back on my plate. I got involved in Reiki, first as a recipient and when I realized how much it was helping me, I took classes and became certified so that I could use it with Lucky. I started working with a healer, so I could clear out my own stuff. I realized how burned out I was on the corporate world and started looking for another direction to go in career wise. I turned everything upside down. I worried that Lucky and I would never be happy if I didn't figure this out, and I didn't want to let either of us down.

Looking back on it now, I can see how each change that I made positively impacted both of us. As I became stronger and more confident, so did she. As I became more comfortable with who I was, more comfortable in my own skin, so did she. When I became more peaceful, so did she. Each positive change I experienced, Lucky experienced as well. We were finding ourselves, finding a level of peace and contentment I hadn't thought was possible. I was tapping into my old forgotten abilities, reconnecting with who I was supposed to be and for the first time in my life, I was listening to myself instead of everyone else. Lucky and I were on a new path now and there was no going back.

There was however, one lingering fear. The animal communicator told me Lucky would live to be nine and as we got closer and closer to her ninth birthday, my anxiety level increased. I had been on a mission the last couple of years to make all these changes, so that Lucky would have a better life and now that things were getting so much better, I was paralyzed by the thought that she would leave me and we wouldn't be able to enjoy this new life we were creating together.

I had one final session with the animal communicator. When she told me Lucky would live a long life, I questioned her about that, reminding her that she told me Lucky would live to be nine. She told me that Lucky was going to stay longer, that her soul had been healed and she would now be able to do everything she had come here to do. She said Lucky was committed to her purpose here and she no longer wanted to leave. She was going to be my guide, my teacher and my friend for many more years because of the healing we had done.

It was such a strange experience to re-live all of that this week. I know there has to be a reason for it. It seemed like it was no accident that I came across those notes. I am still not sure why I blocked all those memories out but regardless of why I forgot, it seems that someone wanted me to remember.

The one thing I had noticed in the weeks since Lucky passed, that I found rather puzzling, was my reaction to pictures of Lucky. While pictures of her at every age make me smile, it was pictures of her in the last five years that have touched me most deeply. Sometimes I would look at pictures of us in our first seven year together and almost not recognize us, which I found very curious. I also found that I was most interested in watching videos of her from the last five years. I kept noticing it and wondering why I was feeling most nostalgic for the ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen and fourteen year old Lucky.

Maybe it was because I liked who we had become in our final years together. Those were the years Lucky and I were finally being who we were meant to be . . . strong, confident, and fulfilling our purpose. Those years were the sweetest in many ways because our relationship had shifted to more of a partnership. I consulted her on things, asked for her opinion, we made decisions together. We made choices out of love instead of fear. We honored ourselves and our needs. I leaned on her and she leaned on me, and we had an incredible amount of fun together.

I suspect there is still some reason I haven't seen yet for why I found those notes and reconnected with that part of our history together. For now, I am content to have been able to look back and be reminded of all I learned back then. I learned how to be still and to really look at myself. I learned that sometimes the best way to help someone else is to take care of yourself. I learned how important it is to hold the space for people and animals, and acknowledge their feelings. I learned how much more peaceful I feel when I listen to myself instead of everyone else. I learned that it can never be a bad thing to want more out of life. And as I have said many times before . . . I am determined not to lose the lesson(s).

For as difficult and painful as those years were for Lucky and I, I guess the other thing I was reminded of while re-living it all this week is that not only did we get through it . . . but we came out the other side more in line with who we were meant to be. I still struggle a bit with the idea that we had to go through so much pain to find our way because I don't believe learning and growing and healing needs to be so painful . . . but for whatever reason, it seems that was the road Lucky and I chose, and while it makes me a little sad, I am trying to focus on the positive . . . that I am extremely grateful we found the courage to do the healing we did . . . because if we hadn't, Lucky might not have stayed on to be my guide, my teacher and my friend for five more wonderful years.