Just writing to see what comes...

Dear Web,

It's been many days since I've last written. I am writing now because I want to feel close to Phoenix. I miss him everyday whether it registers as tears or not. I miss his sweetness. I miss his jolly sense of humor. I miss his attention. I miss giving him my attention. I miss the way our bodies seemed to just enjoy being around one another. It seems that no matter what else I may be experiencing, it's all held in a container of grief. I may be feeling inspired, happy, laughing, angry, disappointed, self-judging and every time, just below the surface, is the grief, is the reminder that I am without Phoenix for companionship, for comfort, for understanding, for just not feeling so alone on the planet in the unique way only Phoenix provided.

This weekend we went to a sanctuary for wolves and wolf-dog hybrids. They are only open to the public for tours periodically, usually on full moons. So, we went to check it out. Phoenix did not look like these beings there, though there were some mannerisms that I saw that touched me. They made my heart ache and something else more deeply stir. It was a familiar wildness in the way two of them brushed against one another or placed their head on the other's back, for examples. They were quick gestures, but had a timeless recognition to me. I had my sunglasses on so there was no one to see my tears of longing.

How then does one live after the loss of this kind of companion, this kind of wild relationship with another? There was one wolf who was in a pen inside a pen because she had such a compromised immune system that exposure to the others could be deadly. The tour guide told us her story: when she came in she had terrible mange and was very ill. The vet told the owner of this sanctuary that this animal should be dead, but is holding on. M., the owner, took her to her home (a few miles away) to keep her in isolation and treated her everyday to try to nurse her back to some strength. Every day this sick wolf would howl and the other wolves who were at the sanctuary would howl back. In spite of everything M. did this wolf would not respond and she got closer to death. Finally they called an animal communicator and the message was simple: "If I cannot be with my people, give me the blue needle and let me go." So, they moved her to the sanctuary to be near the others into this pen inside a pen, and she has improved ever since.

Maybe that is how one lives...near one's people, best we can, even if it's a pen inside a pen. My grief certainly keeps me feeling I am in a pen of sorts, a container. I choose to be in this container because I want to be truest to myself. People have intimated to me that I can CHOOSE to be free of my grief-- I just have to want to choose to be free. And that's probably true. Feeling is almost always a choice. And it's a choice I always move towards. To not feel my grief would certainly make things easier for others, particularly if they have little tolerance for their own grief. I am learning though that I can be in my grief and in many other things too. And to forsake my grief is to forsake my love.

So, here I am...in my container of grief, surrounded by a larger container of Love. Perhaps, this is Phoenix's greatest legacy to me.
Blessed be you, my dear Phoenix.
Melissa