Lucy and the Dawning Light of Christmas Morning, December 25, 2018: Wailea, Maui, Hawaii

The original roaddog. Lucy the Pom. RIP December 24, 2018

Yesterday I taught a holiday class. Our theme was the "Merry" and "Bright" where we spent some time recognizing within ourselves the joyous light that lives within us all. The yogis call is joytir. The Rig Veda tells us it is eternal.

While intellectually I understand, this morning its hard to see. As the dawn light is just breaking through my bedroom window it falls on a broken heart because Lucy the Pom died last night. Her little heart shut down, her breathing became labored with an eerie sound, baleful and other worldly. It was death calling I just knew it, but still a part of me refused to believe it. I think great love protects you in moments of absolute anguish so you can keep your wits about you in an emergency. I rushed her to Animal Emergency hoping for a save but as I drove a certain clarity descended. I turned off the radio and chanted our way there, singing to Shiva and Ganesha in an effort to calm her down, and trying to keep my own heart steady enough to make the 20 minute drive.

I'd called ahead, the vet was expecting me but I could tell from the look in his eye I was too late. He hastily grabbed her from my arms, not in a rude way at all, I knew he was doing his best. We all were.

While Lucy lay in a oxygen chamber behind a swinging door marked "Authorized Personnel ONLY", the doctor came out, to discuss our options, none of which were good. Lucy was suffering horribly, drowning in her own liquids in spite of attempts to treat her. I asked for an xray in the off chance, last ditch effort hopes, she was choking on the treat I had given her earlier that day. When the nurse appeared a few moments later, herself crying because it was all so horrible to see. It was becoming clear the most humane option was to put her down. You know, induce death. Walk her along the path a little faster than she’d make it on her own. Time felt like it was moving so fast. Maybe because every second was singed at the edges with fear and grief, my whole being hypervigilant and electrified.

I make polite excuses in meat eating company for my vegetarianism but the truth is I don't eat meat because I don't like the thought of killing animals. And here I was faced with the decision to euthanize my own beloved Lucy. I was invited to the other side of the swinging door, the side hidden from usual view. There, the light turns harshly bright, I stood eye to eye with the doctor. She looked different in this light, more serious. I detected kindness mixed with sadness, and there was an element of urgency. I thought light was eternal, they say. Lucy’s light had a time limit. That truth was almost unbearable.

I put my face right up to the glass, peering into the oxygen chamber. She turned to me in recognition. Both of us stared into each others eyes, locked in love for several minutes, our own hearts breaking in our own ways. She could see mine through my tears, and I could see hers because her fluffy black fur body was heaving to catch her own breath.

I yelled out for The Shot.

The doctor gently removed Lucy from the chamber, laid her on a fluffy beige towel to cushion her form the cold metal table. I instinctively folded the whole of my upper body over her, my grief wrapped up in love to keep her warm. Though my tears I choked out its ok, we're ok, its all going to be OK., I love you, thank you. A version of the Hawaiian practice of Ho’oponopono custom tailored for Lucy that bubbled up from deep within this island home we love. The prayer ran through me, repeating in a heart loop over and over in a mantra. I couldn't watch what was happening with my eyes but my heart was tuned in to her breath. Just like we teach in yoga, watch the breath, watch the breath. After a few seconds her breathing stopped, her little tiny body ceased heaving, and over a primal wail coming out of me from deep inside I heard the doctor say, “she's no longer in pain”. A few seconds later I heard, “and her heart has now stopped”.

One of the things I remember most from seeing Ram Dass talk about death, just a few weeks ago right here in Maui, was that we never know when it will happen. Its such a mystery, as is, I suppose, life itself.

I'm so honored I got to be Lucy's mama for all these years. She taught me to be a more tolerant and loving person. I'm too sad to say I'm glad I was there at the end because I wish there wasn't an end. I didn't want her to die, of course. I find it curious just a few hours before this took place I was teaching about the joyous light with in us all, eternal and inextinguishable.

I doesn't feel like that at all right now. I can't stop crying. I don't know how to face this Christmas Day. I don't know how to be merry and bright without my little Lucy here in this world.

Health, Love, and Rock N Roll