On Letting Go

The other day I realized I'd let my patio pots get scraggly and depleted to the point of looking like Miss Haversham's garden. The reason for this is that I can't bear to uproot flowers when they're done blooming, even annuals. If there is a spark of life, I'll keep watering and fertilizing until they are clearly and completely dead. In my world, everything has a chance to die a natural death. I can't simply kill something because its done flowering. I can't bear the thought of some leafy green plant dying from  thirst in my green waste can just because it wasn't "beautiful" any more.  I have a daisy in a pot right now that made it through last winter as a leafy green blob and is happily blooming away again this summer. Unfortunately, my spring flowers were not so hardy as last year's daisy and their desiccated forms were a depressing addition to my beautiful yard. I finally accepted their demise and grabbed some Dahlias at a local nursery. It was an easy fix even though it was a long time in coming. Now, my patio is vibrant once again. 

I only wish it was so easy with animals. 

As I went about my instant patio revitalization, my darling dog Beth began to fade. Bloodwork and a visit to my sister the vet revealed liver failure that was refractive to the medication and diet changes I had tried. Her hips, always a bit iffy, have simply given up the ghost as her health has faded. This large, intimidating (in appearance only) black dog has been the light of my life for five years. When I rescued her from doggie death row she was a cowering thing, beaten and terrified. I had to gain her trust so that I could teach her and help her get socialized. It's a funny thing, but I never realized how much of my life I spend desiring. By desiring, I mean wanting something to happen now, in the future, or even wishing something had gone differently in the past. Training Beth meant letting that go, because abuse made her hypersensitive to the slightest emotion or desire on my part. The only way I could get to her to stay with me and relax was to empty myself completely of all emotion. I had to be content just to exist in the present or she would slip away from me physically and emotionally. My, broken dog taught me mindfulness and as I mastered it, she flowered. 

Love flows from her like a river released from a dam. She is exuberant in her adoration of me,  greeting me each morning with loud doggie moans and practically exploding in happiness whenever we spend time together. She loves me, my cats, her sister dog, children and Nylabones unabashedly.

Her life is flowing away before my eyes and I am helpless in the face of her inevitable and rapid decline. I fret over her impending loss. I worry about her comfort, if she is getting enough to eat, if she is in pain, if she is getting enough water, if she needs me when I am not there, if she will let me know when it is time for her to go. I worry that I'm not home enough, and when I am home, I worry that I'm not spending enough time with her, or spending to much and interrupting her rest. Fortunately, she already gave me the means to weather this crisis many years ago. 

I owe it to her to practice what she taught me, to let go of desire again, seeking peace and joy in the life I have and the time we spend together. I can't stop myself form worrying altogether, but I can take a moment every day to find joy in just having her by my side. I am so grateful for her. 

This is my beautiful Beth interrupting our Christmas picture attempt with her unbridled love.