My Therapy Girl

This is my first newsletter in a long while. I waited until I felt ready to share again. I didn't want to write just for the sake of it, I wanted it to feel right. And this story felt worthy of being my first one back.

Some of you knew I had a therapy dog in my office. When it was time to head in, I'd say to Maya, “Are you ready to be therapy girl now?” She would happily jet down the stairs, always ready to go do her new-found job.

Maya would go out into the tiny lobby, greet my clients, and bring them into my office. When it was time for them to leave, she would escort them out. Several times during a session, someone would cry. The very first time I witnessed that she truly could be a therapy dog was when she watched a woman sobbing. She didn't go to her immediately, but observed long enough to know she could help. Of her own accord, Maya walked over and sat next to the woman, pressing her body against her leg. The woman, lost in her grief, took no notice of Maya or what she was doing. When the sobbing softened into gentle crying, Maya quietly returned to her bed and continued to watch.

This act of comfort astonished me. I realized then how intuitive she was: she knew exactly what to do.

On another occasion, a man was distressed. She watched him, but not for long. Maya went to him and pressed up against his leg. Soon he began petting her and calmed down quite quickly. Then there was a young woman who entered my office already crying. She sat down while I tried to console her. I quietly motioned for Maya to come over, and again she pressed against her leg, looking up at her. Within minutes, my client quieted and began stroking her, taking comfort in the repetitive act.

Maya was good at her job, constantly observing who might need her assistance. I loved having her as my therapy girl. She was a happier dog having a job to do, and the clients who came into the office loved her too.

About two weeks ago, Maya got sick out of the blue. After a full day at the emergency vet hospital, I learned of her condition. The vet who explained what was going on didn't give me any hope. The treatment would be arduous, with no guarantees. She could have a seizure or throw a clot to her lungs, heart, or brain, resulting in a grave situation. She had already thrown a clot in her stomach and was having intestinal problems.

With so many complications, I dreadfully chose what I believed was right for Maya, which was to not risk her suffering any longer. We were all together as a family, each of us holding onto her as she slipped into another world. It was quick and peaceful. We were all sobbing - with no Maya there to press up against us and ease our pain.

The aftermath of losing Maya has been typical of grief: denial, questioning, blame, anger, shame, and guilt. When I thought I was all dried up, another flood of tears would drench my face. Each of us has been going through this in our own way, experiencing these feelings for different reasons, yet the intensity is the same. I've been through so much grief in my life that I know these thoughts and emotions will dissipate in time, but that doesn't make it any easier right now.

 You may think I'm crazy after you read the next part of my and Maya's story, but I feel it's a story worth sharing. A few days ago, I was driving and talking about the loss of Maya with my closest childhood girlfriend. I was crying so hard that I pulled over and parked. When I quieted down, we began talking about the timing of getting another dog.  

And then came two short, loud beeps, seemingly from my dashboard. I asked my friend, “Did you hear that?” Oddly, she said no. How could she not, I wondered? My car had never made a sound like that before. Bewildered, I briefly considered if I was going crazy. 

We went back to talking about what dog might be a good fit for me when two loud beeps in succession sounded again. I asked her, “Did you hear them this time?” She said she honestly hadn't. How could she not have heard them? I was on Bluetooth speaker with the volume up loud. I had now heard them twice, and there was no mistaking they were coming from my dashboard, with no signal or error message to accompany them.

In that moment it dawned on me that Maya was connecting with me, giving me her blessing to get another therapy girl. Four short, loud beeps that only I could hear. Even in spirit, she found a way to comfort me when I was consumed with grief and doubt.

I can't think of any other explanation for the beeps, delivered in that way and heard only by me. I believe it was Maya, which is enough for me. Spirit moves in fascinating and mysterious ways, and sometimes a message doesn't need to be understood by anyone else - it only needs to be felt by the one it was intended for.

May Maya rest in peace now. And for those of you who met her, I hope she sent you love and healing during your sessions. I miss her so much and absolutely loved that she could be my therapy girl, even if only for a few short years.

And as I step back into writing and sharing again, I'm hoping for gentler days ahead. Happy Year of the Fire Horse. Here's to a better year filled with healing, signs when we need them, and the courage to begin again.

Warmly,

Tamara