I had already endured the process of going to the mountains to get a tree without her, and while I could feel her spirit with me that day, it just wasn't the same. When it came to decorating the tree, I was overwhelmed by how much I missed having her here to bring me her tennis ball every 2 minutes. (Lucky didn't like it much when something other than her got that much of my attention, so she was always determined to get me to play with her as much as I was "playing" with the tree while I was decorating it).
I knew I needed to find a way to get through the rest of the holiday season with as much peace as possible. I knew I also needed to allow myself the space to grieve her absence if that's what I needed to do. I received several wonderful offers to join friends for Christmas gatherings but as the day grew closer, the only thing that seemed right was for me to spend the day at the beach.
Lucky and I went to the beach last year on Christmas day and while we weren't able to go to our regular beach, (Lucky's back end was too weak by then and there are over 70 steps to get down to our usual spot), we found another beach a mile or so down the coast with no stairs. We had a lovely time - the perfect way for us to celebrate Christmas. The beach was always our most favorite place in the world. I think being at the ocean soothed her soul as much as it soothed mine.
So, with a little bit of trepidation, I headed over the hill on Christmas day to hang out at me and Lucky's favorite beach. I brought along pictures from the last year of Lucky's life, so that I could visually reflect on the last year, and filled my pockets with kleenex.
As I stood at the stop of the stairs, looking down at the beach, I was flooded with memories of the hundreds of trips Lucky and I had made to this particular beach. I was fighting back tears as I made my way down the 70+ steps, trying to remind myself to just breath and be present.
The weather was beautiful. I knew half way down the steps that I wasn't going to need the jacket I was wearing and that I probably should have put sunscreen on my face. As I made my descent, I continued feeling a mixture of emotions . . . it felt so good to be back there again, and yet, it was so hard to be there without Lucky. I thought about the millions of times I threw the tennis ball for her on this beach, the hundreds of sandwiches we had shared, the way she made me laugh and feel full of life when we were there together.
We went to this beach year round, so over the years, we experienced every kind of weather possible and I giggled to myself as I remembered the time we were there on an incredibly windy day. I was miserable, but Lucky was having so much fun, I forced myself to stay, trying my best to find the positive . . . and finally decided rather than focusing on how much the sand blasting against my face and legs was hurting me, I'd look at it as a free micro-derm abrasion treatment, compliments of mother nature. :-)
I made my way down close to the surf and sat down on my jacket. For a little while, I just took in the sights and sounds and smells. I watched people walk by and remembered how much Lucky loved to bring her ball to everyone who passed by. We always made friends with people at the beach because Lucky was determined to share her joy with everyone we encountered.
I pulled the pictures out of my backpack that I had brought with me and cried as I looked at them and thought about our last year together. There is such a huge void in my life now that she is gone and in some ways, it felt wrong to be there without her. I found myself scanning the beach to the left and to the right, looking for a german shepherd but there were none. I saw just about every other breed imaginable but no shepherds.
I missed her so much, I was fighting off one of those all out 'ugly cries' that you typically don't want to do in public. I tried to focus on what I love about the beach, besides being there with Lucky. Seeing the way the sun reflects off the water, hearing the sound of the waves crash, as the next set gets ready to roll in . . . those are the things that have always soothed my soul so I put my attention there. I pulled out my camera and took a few pictures.
A few minutes later, a darling little dog came running up to me. I couldn't tell what type of breed she was or even how old she was. She was just small and darling. She put her paws on my leg so she could reach my face and then she licked me on the forehead. Her guardian came running over, apologizing to me, and explaining that they had just adopted her from the shelter two days earlier and they hadn't trained her yet. I told him I wasn't bothered at all and then got choked up as I tried to tell him that it was my first trip to the beach since my dog had passed away and that I sensed his sweet little dog knew I needed some comfort. I was embarrassed by how teary I got but he was very kind. He expressed his condolences and then picked her up and carried her back over to where his friends were standing.
Minutes after he placed her back on the sand, she came running back over to me again. I smiled and said hello. She put her paws on my leg again, so she could look me in the eye and she said, "They want me to tell you that everything is going to be OK." The tears started to flow as I kissed her on the forehead and thanked her for delivering the message. She sat quietly with me for a few minutes as I pet her and then she got up and ran back to her guardian.
As I sat there, I realized I didn't know who "they" was for sure . . . I hadn't thought to ask her. I was so blown away by the message, I wasn't thinking straight for a few minutes. I sensed "they" was not her guardian and his friends. I wondered if "they" was Lucky and Maggie, Brandy, Clancy and Murphy, the dogs I had as a child . . . or if "they" was Lucky and Hanna, Bood, Lucy and Montana, my precious animal clients who have made their transition in the last 6 months. It didn't really matter who the "they" was though . . . to me the most important thing was the realization that someone was looking out for me that day, that someone wanted me to know that everything was going to be OK.
As I continued to sit there, watching the waves roll in, I realized that the heaviness I had been feeling all day had lifted. It was an undeniable shift. Suddenly, I didn't have to try to focus on what I loved about being at the beach . . . I just felt it in every cell of my body. I soaked up the beauty of my surroundings, I breathed in the peacefulness and the comfort it gave me. It just felt so good to be there, I decided I would stay a little longer and just enjoy being there.
Something had definitely shifted . . . because for the next half hour, every dog who strolled down the beach with their guardians came over to say hello to me. It was the strangest thing because not a single dog had approached me earlier, but now dogs were going out of their way to come over and say hello. It warmed my heart. Then, as if "someone" was determined to put some icing on my cake, a bunch of surfers showed up and made their way into the water right in front of me. I don't know how to surf myself but I have always loved watching other people surf. Seeing people "at one" with the tide, the mixture of confidence and peacefulness that surfers always seem to embody, has always touched me very deeply. I sat there a while longer watching the surfers, smiling to myself as I thought about all the things I am grateful for. In recent weeks, I had been struggling so much with my sadness over Lucky's absence, I hadn't been feeling very grateful . . . but in that moment, I was flooded with feelings of gratitude. And I kept hearing that sweet little dog's words . . . that everything was going to be OK . . . and I knew it would be.
When I was ready to leave, I gathered up my stuff and climbed the stairs. Once I was at the top, I turned around to look at our beach one more time and soak it all in. (And to catch my breath too) :-) It wasn't a sad departure though, as I knew I would be back. I knew it would be alright for me to go there without Lucky, that she would want me to keep going to the place that soothes my soul and helps me find center again. It will always be "our" beach but I now know that I can go there without her and still get what I need.
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