A Loss and a Filling

I’m writing this now, after my sweet girl—boo, Isla Bear, bootucks…has crossed the rainbow bridge. She is in her spiritual home now. It’s been 2 months to a day on this side since Isla passed. I feel it most strongly in the absence of her presence here on earth. Now, after the initial weeks, I’m feeling the wave of loss and grief swell up again. It feels like the empty space that I’ve felt from her absence has now filled in more—becoming paradoxically more full. It isn’t heavy in the sense that it will pull me down, but it’s like that space where she lives in my heart has now expanded, and grounded so that a place of memory takes permanent residence there. It is bittersweet, but mostly a place of remembrance and ongoing love—love that can be poured out to the other pups, and to anyone I come across.

It’s been busy for us in these recent weeks, with travel plans back to the U.S., and a wedding to attend with Isla’s uncle Bo. We’ve all experienced a lot of adjustments in our lives since Isla passed—we’ve all had to adjust to not having boo be such a strong part of our daily lives and rhythm.

Little Portabella has felt it especially keenly in her daily rhythm; Isla was her protector, her strong support—especially on our daily walks. She kept pace with her, and was a true grounding force. She made Bella feel protected and safe, and Bella hasn’t been the same on our walks ever since Isla left. She seems unsure and confused about venturing out into the big world without her big sister in tow…

Deacon is taking our walks in stride, but he certainly feels the loss of his big sis himself. I have the sense that he is holding down the fort, waiting for her. I keep telling him that she’s still watching out for us, and I know that we’ll all see each other again someday. I know that Isla is still keeping an eye on her siblings from the other side.

The Rainbow

Boo is also showing me that we had an amazing run—a fantastic adventure—and nothing can and will ever diminish that. Others have said that she was a once-in-a-lifetime: she’s not like any other dog—and to me, she has always been a precious angel and gift from God—and at the same time, fully free in spirit. I know too that I would have liked to give her more—more treats, more space to run free, more of everything—but I gave her my whole heart, and all that I could. I promised her we would be together, and that she would have a new dad—and she did. She also got a new puppy sibling and other siblings in the bargain. She wasn’t quite sure about the puppy, but she grew to love Deacon, and he so looked up to her. He still does. One of the last times we went on a walk together, Isla was very weak, yet she didn’t hesitate to muster up all her strength to protect Deacon from our neighbor’s German Shepherd. She’s watching over him still. Deacon sure has some big paws to fill.

What she’s showing me now is that it is time to start creating and making space for new life. That might look like showing love for another pup that needs a home, or continuing to focus on bringing to life our mission and vision, and stepping in to that vision. Whatever it is, it’s about renewal—and that renewal holds the imprint and essence of what Isla means to us—and how she has impacted our lives.

I realize now how much she was a gift from God—literally a companion and angel sent to comfort, protect and to be a loving presence by my side. Tears are rolling down my face as I write this, as every moment and everywhere I turn there is a memory of her, and the reminder that she is no longer here with us in this realm.

When I stood up and walked outside, the wind blew gently on my face (Isla speaks to me through the wind now) and I felt the comfort and joy of her presence in this new form; and in the corner, a rainbow emerged. I whispered to her that I miss her, and at that moment, the wind picked up, swirled around me, and church bells started ringing in the distance. It made me cry even more, but it also made my heart smile to remember how she loved to lay in this one spot in the grass, and pf all the spots where she would sit and wait for us, or keep an eye out for us while we were gone—and how now the little pups continue that in their own way.

I was compelled to pause and share today about that cycle of ebb and flow that is present in any transition—especially with loss. It is a helpful comfort to me (and I hope to anyone experiencing loss) to remember the cycles and rhythms of the experience, and to just allow the emotions and thoughts to move through you. Being with the emotions—whatever they are—while not being pulled under and drowning in them is a powerful and cathartic process. Inevitably, the clouds of the storm will part, and the sunlight will peek through, and you’ll be reminded of the joy and the deep love present in the pain.