Having listed and briefly described various thoughts and feelings that comprise my experience of grief at Zoe’s fatal illness and death, I will now proceed in a different way: I want to try to move from the feelings and disturbing thoughts into the “peace of God that surpasses all understanding.” Note that I do not feel this peace now, but I know from experience and by faith that God’s peace is freely available to those who seek it. And I want to enter into His peace.
I feel grief as a response to the perceived loss of someone I have loved deeply. Sorrow is part of the experience of love. But it need not dominate or overwhelm a soul. When Rummy died in 2005 (the day before I brought home Zoe), I experienced intense grief that affected me for months. It is not that I love Zoe less than I love Rummy, for I love each of these creatures as well and as whole-heartedly as I possibly can. Having passed through months of painful grief for Rummy, and understanding how love can slowly transform grief into joy, I seek, as noted, the peace of God in whom alone grief becomes joy. Stated psychologically, I do not want to torture myself or make myself suffer grief more than I must; rather, I want to help restore peace, joy, and vitality to my life. I could ask: Is that not what I would want for someone else? Is that not what my dear Zoe would want for me? Does it not honor our love better if I seek to live the love more in God, and not within the recesses of my private self? What do I mean? That I must seek to open my soul to the reality and presence of God, and not be self-enclosed. In beginning any good work or activity, as St. Benedict instructs us, one should ask for the God of all goodness to help bring the work to completion. Seeking peace is indeed a good activity, and one seeks God’s peace by turning to God. Although verbal prayer is not necessary for the turning around of the soul, it can be a useful means to help direct the soul towards and into the presence of the living God: Dear God and Creator of all, your little creatures need your wisdom and goodness. Zoe needs You for life eternal, I need You for the peace which surpasses human reasoning. And we all need You to transform our imperfect lovings into a genuine sharing in You, the one true and complete Love. From You each comes forth, to You each returns, and in You alone each has its being, for You are being itself, that which simply is. I ask that You receive your beloved Zoe, whom I have loved as a little daughter to me, into the abyss of your mercy, and let her live in You alone. I freely surrender her to You, and yield up all claim that this wonderful creature is in any way mine. She is yours. And I ask that You also receive my heavy heart into the abyss of your divine mercy, that I may experience your peace, and sorrow may yield to joy in You alone. I am not asking for a miracle; and yet, I do ask for a miracle: a radical change of heart from self-centeredness and interior isolation and darkness, into a heart and mind fully and truly open to You. In You is Life, goodness, peace. And in loving and in doing your will is our peace, as Dante reminds us. So your will be done: receive Zoe, receive me, into a deeper and truer union with You that costs nothing but the surrender of ourselves to You, who are Life, Love, Joy. We give up everything in ourselves, even our life, and receive All in You. That is quite a good deal You give us, is it not? So little given, and so much received. And You give in the measure that we open ourselves to the gift of You. *** I am in You, as Zoe is in You. I see no thing, but I feel a quiet peace, a stillness, as in the pause between two breaths. “Ceso todo,” everything ceases, as San Juan de la Cruz wrote. I feel, as it were, a gentle fanning of a refreshing breeze. And I know that I am not here because I am worthy to be here, but I am worthy because I am here, as Plotinus teaches. You have chosen me far more than I have chosen You; I merely say “Yes” to your eternal Yes. It is You who opens the door and floods in, and I enter into your flooding presence, and rest in You, and You in me. When You open, why should I not enter—enter into the joyful light so blazing that I am blind to it, but it penetrates me nonetheless. You are here. “I in you, and you living in Me.” In You alone am I truly, and in You alone is all that I truly love. Here, presently unseen by me, are all of our dear friends, human and creaturely: not parts of You, not dissolved into You, but each distinctly being in your one divine Being. Each is here as I am here: a guest, welcomed, received, at home, in peace. God of all goodness, Lord of all love, I thank You for Life, for my life, for Zoe’s, for Rummy’s, and for my dear parents, and for Binti’s, and Romulus’ life, and for all the good people You have asked me to help tend in this world, and for each whom You have so generously given us to love, and help to tender home to You. Nothing is, unless it is in You; and all in You is forever, as You are forever. Deathless One, ever-living One, Beauty of all beauties, Wisdom beyond all knowing, attained only through the open door of love. I thank You, dear Life, for Zoe’s life, and for having created such a wonderful and beautiful creature, such a creative and indomitable spirit. Thank you for showing me glimpses of your goodness and wisdom in such an original creature. You penetrate each and all, and yet we often fail to recognize, fail to understand. But love recognizes, acknowledges, rejoices, gives thanks. Into your hands, into your heart, I commend the spirit of Zoe. I withhold nothing back, for all comes from You, and to You each returns. And I freely give myself back to You now: “Let it be done to me according to your will,” whether to live here, or back there. Only cease to be I cannot do, for You are, and all and each is in You forever. Here in You are so many friends I thought hidden “in death’s dateless night”—Brother Dominic, Father Daniel, Professor Voegelin, and all whom I have loved in the passing light, the shadow of your eternity. These souls are hidden to us in time, but they are utterly transparent to You, seer of all. And these friends have pointed me to You, and I honor them, as I come to You: not only those whom I have known in the flesh, but spirits who have spoken to me from eternity through the past: even Moses and the prophets, Socrates and the philosophers, and so many saintly men and women, and little creatures displaying your goodness and glory. The glory of All, your glory, is seen in each, and each in You. Here in You there is no separation, no division, no emptiness, but ever-flooding fullness of Your being and divine Life into each. “So why yield to grief, little soul, when the one you love so dearly is filled forever with all the fullness of God"? Do you not know? Have you not heard, little soul, that I create each for my glory, which means, forever? O you of little faith, why did you doubt? Why be afraid? Do you not have faith? I AM WHO AM—just ask Moses!—and each and all are in Me forever. So come to me, you who labor and are heavy burdened in your self, and I will truly refresh you in Me.” *** And so I see that it is not for me to offer Zoe back to God, for she belongs to God forever, but to offer to God all in me that is not from God: fear, doubt, grief, guilt, ill-will. It is for me to surrender all that I am and have to He Who Is. And it is for me to thank the Creator for His Presence in such delightful creature, including my beloved Zoe. And I add one more note: In the still hours before Zoe died, around 0100 in the morning, as she lay on the floor at the foot of the stairs, I prayed out loud the Lord’s prayer, the Our Father, over her, slowly and clearly. As I prayed—“thy Kingdom come, thy will be done”—she raised her head and looked up into my eyes. I could see only one of her eyes, but that was enough. In her eying me, I saw You. The look in her eye brought Your Passion immediately and vividly to mind. In other words, I saw You, my God, suffering in her, and for me. And it was from this experience that I immediately became open to the vet’s guidance to let her die at the right time. “It is enough,” I thought, “depart in peace, my little one.” |
Penned 29-30 Jan
I assume, for good reason, that what I am experiencing with Zoe’s death yesterday is what is usually called “grief.” What I am finding is not a single emotion or experience, but a highly complex set of feelings and thoughts. Not only do feelings of intense sorrow come in waves, but so do diverse memories, thoughts, actions. It may seem like an odd exercise for one whose beloved dog died yesterday, but seeking to understand what I am going through is both the way my mind works, and a means to have some degree of rational control over the heavy emotional experience. Note that I am not suppressing feelings, but seeking to understand them.
I offer a tentative list of diverse feelings and thoughts related to the Zoe’s death shortly before 3:00 pm on 28 January:
(1) Waves of sorrow suddenly flood me, sometimes with tears and outbursts of words, such as “Zoe, my little girl.” These waves of sorrow are often unexpected, but I notice that expressions of consolation by a friend on the phone can trigger them. At times I have cried with Moses, but he seems unmoved, even puzzled or bothered when I cry, and I believe that it is not helpful for him. He responds well to songs or expressions of joy. As the waves of sorrow fill me suddenly, I can with a firm choice quiet them for the time being, but usually only after a few seconds of crying.
(2) Memories of Zoe have been rising into consciousness. Many are happy ones, wonderful moments with Zoe ever since I brought her home when she was 8 weeks old. Some of these provoke a smile or even gentle laughter. More recent memories, of the past couple of months of illness (which proved fatal), are more disturbing, painful, and arouse sorrow. Still, these memories urge to be remembered. Again, I do not suppress them from rising into consciousness, but let them surface.
(3) Somewhat to my surprise, as I am doing manual work or domestic chores, or walking across a room, I find myself suddenly just speaking aloud a few words or a short sentence. Some of these sudden ejaculations are in music, such as whistling one of the many tunes I used to whistle when Zoe, Moses, and I were engaged in various activities. Some verbal phrases do not make much rational sense to me, and leave me wondering, “Why did I say that?” Underneath consciousness, my feelings are churning, and so these little verbal or musical utterances just well up and express themselves.
(4) I clearly have feelings / thoughts of guilt about Zoe’s final illness and death. I wonder if in some way I caused her to have cancer, or neglected signs that she was ill. As I have never favored euthanasia, unless a creature is in extreme pain, with no chance of recovery, I wonder if I made a mistake having Zoe injected on 28 January. As my friend Bob W says, “You will never know if you did right.” I must live with the decision, and know that I gave the word to inject her. Had she died at home, in pain or agony, I would surely feel guilty for that, as well. From experience with myself and in dealing with others, I know well that guilt is a very common component of grief, and something most of us live with. In such a case, I think that surrendering to God seems to be the best cure, for only God knows what is truly best, and I trust that God forgives our mistakes done in good conscience.
(5) In addition to guilt and strong sorrow, perhaps the most disturbing feelings I have, accompanied with thoughts, can best be described as mild shock and horror. These feelings significantly intensified on 14 January, when I heard the diagnosis that Zoe had terminal cancer, and would live “two weeks to two months.” She lived for two weeks. What I feel at times is a numbness in my body and spirit, as if part of me suddenly died. The horror arises as one whom I love so dearly neared death, and then died. It is as if one were standing on the edge of a cliff with no bottom, and about to be shoved over the cliff. If we love someone, their death is ours as well, to a degree. I do not think that I am fearing my own death, but I surely fear the loss of my dear Zoe to death. Here again, the only consolation I know comes in faith: “When God gives life, He gives it eternally.” But the reality of the death of one I have loved so much still haunts my soul beneath consciousness.
I assume, for good reason, that what I am experiencing with Zoe’s death yesterday is what is usually called “grief.” What I am finding is not a single emotion or experience, but a highly complex set of feelings and thoughts. Not only do feelings of intense sorrow come in waves, but so do diverse memories, thoughts, actions. It may seem like an odd exercise for one whose beloved dog died yesterday, but seeking to understand what I am going through is both the way my mind works, and a means to have some degree of rational control over the heavy emotional experience. Note that I am not suppressing feelings, but seeking to understand them.
I offer a tentative list of diverse feelings and thoughts related to the Zoe’s death shortly before 3:00 pm on 28 January:
(1) Waves of sorrow suddenly flood me, sometimes with tears and outbursts of words, such as “Zoe, my little girl.” These waves of sorrow are often unexpected, but I notice that expressions of consolation by a friend on the phone can trigger them. At times I have cried with Moses, but he seems unmoved, even puzzled or bothered when I cry, and I believe that it is not helpful for him. He responds well to songs or expressions of joy. As the waves of sorrow fill me suddenly, I can with a firm choice quiet them for the time being, but usually only after a few seconds of crying.
(2) Memories of Zoe have been rising into consciousness. Many are happy ones, wonderful moments with Zoe ever since I brought her home when she was 8 weeks old. Some of these provoke a smile or even gentle laughter. More recent memories, of the past couple of months of illness (which proved fatal), are more disturbing, painful, and arouse sorrow. Still, these memories urge to be remembered. Again, I do not suppress them from rising into consciousness, but let them surface.
(3) Somewhat to my surprise, as I am doing manual work or domestic chores, or walking across a room, I find myself suddenly just speaking aloud a few words or a short sentence. Some of these sudden ejaculations are in music, such as whistling one of the many tunes I used to whistle when Zoe, Moses, and I were engaged in various activities. Some verbal phrases do not make much rational sense to me, and leave me wondering, “Why did I say that?” Underneath consciousness, my feelings are churning, and so these little verbal or musical utterances just well up and express themselves.
(4) I clearly have feelings / thoughts of guilt about Zoe’s final illness and death. I wonder if in some way I caused her to have cancer, or neglected signs that she was ill. As I have never favored euthanasia, unless a creature is in extreme pain, with no chance of recovery, I wonder if I made a mistake having Zoe injected on 28 January. As my friend Bob W says, “You will never know if you did right.” I must live with the decision, and know that I gave the word to inject her. Had she died at home, in pain or agony, I would surely feel guilty for that, as well. From experience with myself and in dealing with others, I know well that guilt is a very common component of grief, and something most of us live with. In such a case, I think that surrendering to God seems to be the best cure, for only God knows what is truly best, and I trust that God forgives our mistakes done in good conscience.
(5) In addition to guilt and strong sorrow, perhaps the most disturbing feelings I have, accompanied with thoughts, can best be described as mild shock and horror. These feelings significantly intensified on 14 January, when I heard the diagnosis that Zoe had terminal cancer, and would live “two weeks to two months.” She lived for two weeks. What I feel at times is a numbness in my body and spirit, as if part of me suddenly died. The horror arises as one whom I love so dearly neared death, and then died. It is as if one were standing on the edge of a cliff with no bottom, and about to be shoved over the cliff. If we love someone, their death is ours as well, to a degree. I do not think that I am fearing my own death, but I surely fear the loss of my dear Zoe to death. Here again, the only consolation I know comes in faith: “When God gives life, He gives it eternally.” But the reality of the death of one I have loved so much still haunts my soul beneath consciousness.
