“We are all just walking each other home.”
Ram Dass
Yet again, the practices of presence, breath, yoga, sobriety and gratitude are carrying me through all of life’s offerings.
Our yoga practice teaches us how to show up for what is with equanimity. But we are human, and many times life offers us experiences that we would like to dull or avoid altogether. Some of us love a nice long hold in warrior 2 - we feel aligned, powerful, focused. Or perhaps we lay in the beautiful rest in savasana - peaceful, content, right sized. But then parivrtta ardha chandrasana (revolved half moon) comes along, and we may feel challenged, awkward, uncomfortable, even defeated. Or a class offers an inversion that brings up fear or resistance. We hold each pose equally for whatever each one offers, and, like all things, they eventually end, and we are on to the next thing. But each one demands our steady attention, a small, measured breath, and calls on us to sit with the experience without escape or distraction.
In recent months, weeks, and days we have been keeping watchful eyes over our beloved older dog. If you have loved an animal, you know all too well that this is the painful stage that we sign up for when we let an animal into our hearts and homes and they become family. I cannot imagine a greater honor than holding vigil and ushering a creature who has offered us nothing else but unconditional love through this final stage of life.
Our animals teach us so much. How to live with unadulterated joy. How to greet your people with complete enthusiasm, whether they’ve been gone for five minutes or five hours. They hold such stealth and quiet space for us when we are in grief or heartbreak, and they are up for absolutely any adventure, anytime, anywhere. The love they have is the purest, has no strings, no conditions. They remind us of the wisdom of a well-timed nap in a patch of sun, and that delicious snacks are always a great idea. They teach us day after day that we should never miss an opportunity for a snuggle and that holding grudges or resentments is a waste of this precious life.
They teach us how to love. Every moment of every day.
Loco was the king of our home. He took care of our girls when they were younger and did his best to teach his younger brothers not to be knuckleheads. When our girls got older and the inevitable separation of adolescence ensued, he was my constant love and support. He was soulful and regal and the best, best boy. For this, we forgave his pathological love of stealing underwear, the time he ate the Thanksgiving turkey, the scary and expensive lesson that sugarfree gum with xylitol can be fatal for dogs, and the myriad of other antics of his youth. But as an older dog, he held court over our home, a quiet, reassuring presence to us all.
We knew his last day was coming, and we did the gut wrenching wondering as to when the right time would be. We wanted only to honor him and let him go before he had too much (ideally any) pain. With our fur babies, they don’t want us to know they suffer as they are there for us up until the very end. We did not want to hold onto him a moment too long for us. We knew we owed him the grace of passing on peacefully. So we watched and waited.
Until we knew.
We spent his whole last day gathered around him, petting him, and telling him all the reasons we love him. I sat in upavistha konasana (a wide straddle) for hours, with him lying peacefully between my legs, petting him, telling him how he was the best boy, and that it was okay to let go. This is why I practice yoga. Not to practice fancy asana, but to be able to sit in profound peace, whether in times of sadness or contentment. The profundity of the practice felt so real in that moment. We practice yoga, not to be good at poses, but to be able to show up fully for whatever comes.
To be able to sit in ease with Loco for hours on his final day, without distraction, and allow myself to feel the hugeness of the love and the deep grief of loss was the most beautiful practice of all.
When we gathered for his final moments, he seemed tired and ready. Our tears flowed as we held our boy for the last time. He licked my hand up until his last breath, as if reassuring me through the experience, the consummate caretaker of our family.
The pain and grief we experience when we lose someone we love is the natural consequence of loving so deeply. I would not dull a moment of it, just as I wouldn’t dull a moment of the incredible joy and love we get to experience. You all know this. I watch as your cats and dogs and humans mill around you as you practice, always sticking close. I must confess, seeing your beloved pets is one of my favorite and unexpected joys of teaching zoom yoga.
How lucky are we to learn to show up for all of it? The luckiest.