The Mystery of Death

I had a dog named Idgie and one day a contractor left the door open to the house I was living in and Idgie bolted. For three days I searched for her, put up fliers, called all the local veterinarians, and reluctantly surveyed all the busy roads for her body. Time stopped. Everything was surreal. I tried to tune in to my psychic self, tried to connect to her via the heart connection we shared. I was bewildered. I just could not find my footing, I needed to know where she was. I was full of anguish and panic. Where was she? The not knowing tormented me.

I think there are three great mysteries in life. Birth, Love, and Death. With Birth, I ask "Where did you come from?"  With Death, I ask "Where did you go?"

With Birth, in one second no one is there, and in the next a Spirit has appeared in the form of a body. Just like that. But that does not put me in a state of bewilderment or anguish.

It is the time after a person's Spirit leaves their body that I panic. "Where are you?"

I can't find them. Just like my beloved dog Idgie. And for some reason that creates a deep tension in me.

I am a Spiritual person and I believe a recently departed Spirit is on their journey to the place of the Ancestors. But that doesn't help alleviate that sense of confusion I feel when they are gone. I remember when my Grandmother passed. As funny as it sounds, there was a part of me that was confused by the fact she left all her things behind. They only had life when they were connected to her life. In her absence, the were lost and lonely, and no longer had a purpose. They became stuff to get rid of.

Last Thursday at supper time, my step dad left this world after struggling with cancer and other health issues. He and my mother live in Texas. Well he used to. Or maybe he still does I don't know. I have lost him. I don't know where he is, I do know I can't call him to ask a question about house paint or wood or mushrooms. In fact, I can never call again. I have lost him and I don't know where to find him. I am bewildered.

Jim learned to carve wood in his later years and he made some beautiful creations. I can only imagine if he would have learned as a boy, he would have been a Master. He was an incredible organic garden since before organic was mainstream, and he loved morel mushrooms and fishing. Every spring I try to send he and my mother a mess of morels. I told him I would sent them again this year, and have my little sister cook them up and take them to the hospital so he could enjoy them. But neither spring nor Jim cooperated with my intentions. Spring came too slow and Jim left too soon.

After three days I finally received a call that someone had a little white dog curled up on their front porch, a very dirty white dog that was absolutely exhausted. I drove as fast as I could to that house and scooped her up in my arms. A sense of relief washed over me and I cried. I had found my friend.

I'll never find Jim on a front porch. But in time, the feeling of Jim being lost somewhere will pass, and I will know that he is right where he belongs. Until then, I will keep on putting posters up on telephone poles asking "Have you seen this man?"

May you rest in peace Pops.