If you didn’t read my last post, this post won’t make any sense. Not that any of them do…

I know I make things around here confusing enough.

If you don’t know that tragedy plopped into my life, do yourself a favor and read Happy Trails, Happy Scrappy.

I’m trying to help you. Really.

At the end of my last post, I told you I found a way past my sickening grief.

Before I tell you about that, let me just say that the last time I felt as lost, abandoned, and downright empty was when my husband left me in 2009.

Maudlin. That’s what I was after I finished being hysterical.

Every time I walked into the house, I cried.

When I went to the bathroom, I cried.

Why? Because Scrappy always followed me everywhere and I never went pee without saying “Hi” to him.

Phil tried to keep me busy Friday night and Saturday, but he was grieving, too. We were a sorry pair.

He was worried that I would get sick (or sicker) from the stress.

So was I.

I kept thinking about scientific articles proving pet ownership improves overall health. How ironic.

I took extra meds to help me sleep on Friday and Saturday night.

Fearing that I would sink into some dizzier, depressed, inflamed immune system malaise, I woke up Sunday morning knowing I had to pull myself back from the hole into which I was sinking. The hole in my heart.

I laid in bed and asked myself, “How can a hole feel so damned heavy?”

I reached over and poked Phil. He stirred.

“I’m going for a walk,” I said.

This was an act of courage because every morning I took Scrappy for a walk. This walk would be solo.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Phil said.

“No, I have to do this alone.”

“Okay. Just be careful.” It was dark, raining, and windy. Phil worries about me.

“I will. I just need to do this.”

And I did.

Armed with my rain gear and a handful of tissues, I headed off into the pre-dawn darkness.

That’s when I started talking aloud to Scrappy.

First, I told him how sorry I was about not being there for him when he departed. I hoped that his soul left his body before he felt any pain. I wished he were in a peaceful, beautiful place where his spirit could run free.

Second, I talked about our journey together and how maybe he knew it was time that I travel alone. We met when we were both abandoned souls, teaching each other how to trust. I assured him that I will always love him and thanked him for being there through those tough days when it was just him and me.

Finally, I told him about how I was strong enough to walk alone. He was my brave and perfect companion, but now it was time for him to rest. He didn’t need to protect me anymore.

When I said this last declaration to him, three things happened simultaneously:

1. The rain that had been pelting me stopped instantaneously.

2. The wind that kept trying to blow the hood off my head died down to nothing.

3. My heart felt as light as a feather.

I smiled.

I think Scrappy’s essence, spirit, energy—whatever you want to call it—surrounded me, weighing me down until I said goodbye in a way that he understood.

We spoke soul to soul.

When he was satisfied that his job here was done, he bolted, just like he did when he ran into the forest on Friday before giving me his knowing look.

His sparkling love now fills my heart, effervescent and light.

I haven’t shed a tear since the Goodbye Walk. I’ve even had occasion to laugh a little–maudlin no more.

Do I miss him? Sure, I do.

But he and I took our magical Goodbye Walk and something shifted. He’s with me in a new way. We walk together every morning still … in that new way.

Suppose you’ve never had a close relationship with a non-human companion. In that case, you probably think I’m being Loony Lorna or I’m into some New Age hooey about talking to spirits, especially animal spirits.

All I can tell you is what happened. The rain and wind stopped at the moment the grief gripping my heart released.

Call it what you will. I call it Scrappy saying “I’m still looking out for you, Mom. I’m only a smile away.”