This spring I was privileged to attend the death of a dear friend’s beloved cat, Sachi, who had terminal cancer and had reached the end of what she could tolerate. My friend, Reiki master and massage therapist Mary Van de Ven, had done everything possible to help Sachi, but the cancer was relentless.
Sachi was a stray kitten who showed up at my friend’s Hawaiian home on Thanksgiving Day in 2002, a few months after Mary’s previous cat died, and moved with her to Seattle in 2006. Mary and I met in Rose De Dan’s Reiki class series in the spring of 2007 (Wild Reiki and Shamanic Healing), so we’ve been close friends a long time. Mary knows my work very well, and was comforted at the thought of me attending the euthanasia and being Sachi’s advocate, to tell her what was happening, and to help her communicate with Mary at the end.
My Animal Communication Work
For those of you who are wondering, my animal communication work focuses on the human-animal bond. While I help locate lost animals and examine medical issues (but only if the information I provide is taken to a veterinarian), my focus is deepening our connection with our animal families, including family harmony and the tough issues involved in re-homing animals and dying. (For more on how to handle end-of-life issues with your animals, see my article, “How the Human-Animal Bond Meets, and Survives, Death.) That means my work is as practical as it is mystical: my goal is that multi-species animals prosper together, so that each soul has its best chance of achieving soul growth in its body’s lifetime. I work with individual clients and I teach animal communication as a bonding process for families.
Vet Clinics and Euthanized Animals
The euthanasia was going to take place at the vet’s office, a place where Mary and her animals felt comfortable and were warmly treated. I said goodbye to my beloved Murphy at the vet’s office, and I know how generous and kind they are to families and animals who face death together. But there can sometimes be problems.
Because I can and do talk with anything (chairs, cars, mountains), I usually walk around heavily shielded, or I’d never get anything done. So I had been surprised some weeks before when I had Alki at his vet and my sweet boy completely freaked out: he wanted nothing to do with his vet when he had always loved him and willingly cuddled. Instead, Alki sat rigidly beside me, eyes wide in horror, or raced around the room, crying. We finally moved to a different exam room, and Alki calmed down.
At first I thought it was that Alki and I had both seen a lot of our respective doctors since we were attacked by the neighbor’s dog in January, but it was more than that. When a friend and I checked in, we discovered that a dog that had recently been euthanized at the clinic was screaming at Alki: “Run for it, they kill you here!”
So I could hardly blame Alki for feeling terrified. When my friend and I checked with the dog, we discovered that his people had been with him when he died, and they were crying. That assured me that the euthanasia was necessary to prevent suffering from a condition that could not be resolved. Once I explained it to the dog, he promptly moved on to his afterlife, greeted by my dad, Ray, who runs a Way Station for Dead Things on the Other Side. (For a more detailed account, see my article, “What To Do When Your Vet Is Haunted.”)
I also mentioned it to my vet, suggesting that they institute a procedure to explain to the animals what was happening, and so prevent the trauma we had accidentally witnessed.
Because I walk around heavily shielded, and I’m focused on my kids or on clients’ kids at the vet, I hadn’t thought much about the stuck dead at veterinary clinics (which is not an excuse, only an explanation). The dead get stuck and don’t move on to their afterlives for a number of reasons, but in the case of euthanized animals, it’s usually because they are confused about what’s happening and weren’t told it was coming, or they didn’t want to die and wouldn’t accept it.
The problem is, this is happening at every vet clinic that euthanizes animals or deals with their dead bodies. So the night before I was to be at the vet clinic with Mary and Sachi, I sat down to look at the clinic with my dad, Ray. We saw a steady stream of cats, dogs, gerbils (lots of gerbils) … meaning the clinic had been in business a long time, and a lot of deceased animals were stuck. Now, this isn’t anyone’s fault: it’s not like people intend for the animals to be confused and get stuck. Instead, they just don’t always stop to think that, like us, animals have souls and can think for themselves, and we don’t always think through what that means, and act on what we learn. It’s even harder when we’re traumatized ourselves as we face the loss of a beloved animal.
Sachi … and Harold
The upshot of this session with my dad was that I agreed to get to the clinic early and unobtrusively help the stuck dead move on to my dad, and then he would stand by for Sachi. Yes, of course, we could have done it that night, but I was going to be in the space, and I wanted to honor the animals by actually being present with them as they moved on.
Oh, the best laid plans. The next morning it was pouring down rain and I got lost. As I was driving, my dad suddenly popped in.
“I’ve asked my friend, Harold, to take all the other animals, so all I will do is take care of Sachi,” he explained.
I was surprised, but I wasn’t going to tell my dad how to do his job. He had figured it all out, so I simply agreed. Then Harold started talking to me, and would not shut up. Interestingly, I could clearly see him as he talked, which doesn’t always happen (I will know who I am talking with, but they aren’t usually as vividly present as Harold was).
Harold was still talking when I went into the clinic. He made it clear that he was somehow connected to the clinic, and that he wanted that acknowledged, so after I greeted Mary and her sister and Sachi, I asked the vet technician working with them if someone in the clinic was connected to a deceased man named Harold. She didn’t know of anyone, and left the room, saying, “Oh, I wish one of my dead would ask for me.”
I figured that was the end of that, and focused on Mary and Sachi. I was honored to help them say goodbye to each other, and to transmit loving messages from Sachi to Mary as we waited for the vet. This is always sacred time, and it is such a blessing to share it with families.
Then the vet came in, and I immediately realized that my dad had set me up. The vet was the clinic owner, and he was the spitting image of Harold, who was once again eagerly chatting away, and refusing to be ignored.
“Are you Harold’s son or nephew?” I asked the vet.
He smiled shyly and said the vet tech had told him what I had said. Harold was his dad, and, as Harold had insisted, he had always been interested in animals but had never worked at the clinic and was not a vet. I explained to the vet that Harold ran a way station like my father did, and that he was volunteering to be present at the death of every animal coming into the clinic, to ensure that they got safely to a way station. I also suggested that he establish a practice that each vet explain to every animal what was going to happen and why, and if the families weren’t open to that, they could do it silently in their heads, because the animals would hear, and Harold would be there.
He was thrilled that his deceased father was eager to assist him, and readily agreed. Yes! One vet clinic out of how many? But one that was going to see to it that deceased animals had an escort to their afterlives. That sneaky Harold, and my far-seeing dad, who, unlike many way station managers, can see energy lines between the living and the dead. Meaning that when he looked at the clinic with me the night before, my dad saw the connection between Harold and the clinic, and set about connecting father and son in service to the animals. Awesome, isn’t it?
And, yes, Sachi had a beautiful sendoff, and died peacefully in Mary’s arms. Sachi quickly and safely transitioned; my dad smiled at us as he held her in his arms. Later, I told Mary that she was streaking around the Way Station, enjoying the mountain scenery and the other animals who visited there or worked with my dad.
We celebrated Sachi’s life at a local restaurant with Mary’s sisters and a picture of Sachi on the table with us.
How to Deal with a Sick and Dying Animal
The point of the story? Remember to tell your animal companions what is going on, whether they are sick or dying. Sometimes animals who are very sick or in a lot of pain panic, or get worn out by the pain, and tell me they want to die: this is your clue as their companion that they need comfort and support, and possibly additional medical attention. Too often people, especially energy healers and intuitives, think of their animals as teachers and healers, or sponges to their human’s worries and ills, so dismiss anything else by insisting their animals ‘are mirroring their feelings.’ This is a disservice to the animals and to you: they have real fears and concerns, real joys they want and need to share with you. Be open to them and listen; your caring response and support could be all they need to hang in there and recover and thrive again, much quicker than they can do when their concerns are being ignored. Think about it: when you’re sick or hurt and don’t know what’s wrong, or the extent of the damage, you relax and recover faster when your care team keeps you informed and attends to your concerns. Your animals deserve that level of support from you, and you deserve it as well. Your entire family will feel better.
My friend, Mary, was totally tuned in to Sachi, and they were able to share her final weeks together peacefully, and to say goodbye tearfully but confidentally, knowing that Sachi was aware that everything that could be done for her was done, and that she both understood and greeted her death as bravely and joyfully as any human who is well prepared. Sachi was ready, and so was Mary—as ready as any loving pair who have to separate. It isn’t easy, but it’s possible.
Questions about animal communication or my upcoming animal communication class? Please contact me.
© 2014 Robyn M Fritz
