Saying Goodbye (and Hello) to Woody

I have a secret for you.

I, and writers like myself write because we have to. We have no choice.

Writing is the only way that I can make sense of my universe; the only way I can learn important lessons about life, business, relationships, emotions, etc.

The words I write are granted me by some unseen muse, and it's only in reading them that I fully understand the lessons that have come through me, not from me.

So, thank you for giving me an outlet for this channeled wisdom.

Today, and for the last few days, the lesson seems to be about letting go. As many of you know, my beloved Woody succumbed to a sudden intracranial event at the age of 14, admittedly a good age for a dog, but far sooner than I expected, given his remarkable health and youthfulness.

I've cried for him, yearned for him, turned expectantly to see him before remembering his absence, and allowed myself to experience a flood of lovely memories from our inseparable time together traveling the world.

Now, wherever I turn, I'm being presented with messages about letting go. Just now, Paul McCartney is urging me to Let It Be. Not, however, before echoing my thoughts that 'I know I'll never lose affection for people and things that went before...In My Life I've loved you more..."

The thing is, a big part of me doesn't want to let go, not of the memories, which I intend to keep close, but of the pain of loss. The dark cloud of sadness seems not just oppressive, but necessary. I'm dangerously close to being addicted to grief.

And with that comes the need to remind myself how empty my life is without Woody.

Yet, there are at least three thousand years of wisdom that counsel me in another direction. The gist of it is as follows (thanks to Guatama Buddha)...

Life is filled with suffering

Suffering comes from clinging to the past or craving something in the future

Suffering ends with the realization of impermanence and the acceptance of what is

The path to that realization is well mapped and can be followed by the willing

Since I have no argument with any of those precepts, the only reason to continue suffering is the unwillingness to stop insisting that the past not end.

To be present, to love the moment, to open to the abundance around us now is to accept that today is a brand new chapter in our lives. All that came before can be cherished and appreciated for what it was, but it must not become the yardstick by which we measure this moment. In making that mistake, we rob ourselves of the possibility that something remarkable, astonishing, unexpected, and life-affirming is about to unfold.

So, in this moment, I declare that I have full permission from all the forces of the universe to put my amazing 14 years with Woody in the past; to cherish and appreciate it no less, but to recognize that it glows from a chapter no longer here.

I give myself permission to heal. I allow myself to say goodbye. I embrace the uncertainty of the future. I open to the purpose for which I'm now here, regardless of not yet knowing what it is. And I trust that whatever way in which Woody lives within me, his presence and the gifts of having shared my life with him will inform my future in ways I'm open to discovering.

If you're lost in grief, stuck in a painful emotion, or frustrated by the reality of today, I invite you to stop comparing now to then. Open to and embrace the reality of this moment, and give yourself the gift of letting your emotions come and go; to wash over you and cleanse you of your expectations. Live in the moment, and embrace its gifts.

If you need to hear it from someone, let me be the one to say... "You have permission to heal."

Write me if you want a copy of Woody's 10 Rules for Living a Happy Life