I have found myself reflecting back on old posts and journal entries I wrote shortly after my beloved Ahnung was diagnosed with mammary cancer in July, 2011. Losing my Papa at the age of 4 and never learning how to welcome and embrace the pain of loss I took on many survival strategies – numbing, alcohol, avoidance, throwing myself into work or sports or anything. I was led to Ahnung at Red Lake Nation in October, 2008. The connection we had was deep beyond words from the moment I laid eyes on her at the shelter at Red Lake Nation in October, 2008 shortly after she had given birth to 8 little pups. She looked exhausted and haggard and yet there was something – something about her that touched my soul so deeply.
The first 2.5 years I had with her were magical. Her natural way of being with people led us to becoming a therapy dog team and we volunteered in hospice and with at-risk youth at St. Paul Public Schools in Minnesota. From the very beginning there was a unique energy and way about this beautiful soul that arrived in the body of a furry 4-legged canine. And through her I began to heal some deep wounds within me. What I didn’t know was that 2.5 years later she would be diagnosed with mammary cancer and then a year later with invasive adenosquamous carcinoma. Her oncologist did not believe this cancer was related to her mammary cancer and said it was very rare and at that time medical journals show there have been 15 cases seen and they were in Canada. Reports indicated that if the cancer had spread to the lymphatic system the prognosis was a couple months. Ahnung’s cancer was confirmed to have already spread to her lymphatic system. This was April, 2012. At the same time I was also struggling with significant health issues – diagnosed with a rare heart condition, pancreatic insufficiency, and early stages of breast cancer. The parallel of our health journey did not go unnoticed. In my gut I believe Ahnung came to me to help me heal from the trauma of sexual abuse where nightmares and flashbacks began in the summer of 2008, and to also take the disease and illness in my body into her’s. I begged her not to take what was mine; not to leave me. I told her I did not know how to walk this earth without her. Even though we were told Ahnung had a couple months, this beautiful soul gifted me with another 14 months and began to teach me and guide me on how to befriend Grief.
On December 27, 2012 I wrote the following
Anticipatory Grief: Making Friends
Grief walks up to your front door. It’s not time yet, you say. Yet she keeps on walking. She walks past the rose bushes in your front yard. She walks past the boulders you’ve carefully laid in her path. She walks past the detours you’ve planted to steer her around you and away from you. This time She is focused. And the rain is pouring and thunder is booming as the earth shakes and vibrates.
“Please,” She says, “I need shelter. I need to come in — if only for a moment. “
Reluctantly, I let Grief in. I offer her a cup of warm tea. We sit by the fireplace.
“Why have you come?” I ask. “It’s not yet time.”
“It’s time. I am by myself tonight. Tomorrow I may not be alone. I may bring thousands of Me and there will be nothing you can do. We will break down your door. We will drown you. “
She pauses for a moment.
She strokes my dog Ahnung.
“Sit with Me now.”
We share stories. We cry. We laugh. Ahnung lays between us. A calm breeze permeates the room.
“It’s time for me go,” Grief says.
“But we have so much more to share,” I say.
She smiles. She rises, and Ahnung walks alongside her. Ahnung stops at the front door as Grief turns around to face me.
“I will be return. I may come alone, or I may bring a friend. Now, go be with Ahnung.”
We melt into the breeze coming through the open door.
For the next 14 months I prepared myself as best as I could to sink into the pain whenever anticipatory grief would come and visit me. I learned how to keep my heart open when my heart was being shredded into a million pieces.
On August 25, 2013, as the sun was setting, I held my Ahnung in my arms, surrounded by friends, as her heart stopped beating. The weight of her body fell into my arms. She was gone. Physically gone. My heart wanted to stop breathing with her. I wrote the following:
Grief, you took her place.
I have floundered in the darkness.
You again remind me of what you said to me in your many visits:
Ahnung is in your heart. You are One. She is in your blood. She is in your bones. She is in the Earth. She is in the Air you breath. She is the Fire inside of you. She is in the oceans, the rivers and lakes, the rocks. When she is gone, she will live on in you
Grief holds my hand. Walk with me. Close your eyes.
“When I visit you in waves know that I come with your Ahnung. Ride the waves with us. Open your heart … in the cracks and shattered pieces of your heart, let the light in, let the water in … you must also let the sharp edges cut you. Sink into the waves. Hold onto me, hold onto Ahnung. One day I promise you, you will ride the waves with us and I will leave you. You will learn a new dance and a new way to Be with Ahnung.”
Open your heart … in the cracks and shattered pieces of your heart, let the light cut you. Sink into the waves. Hold onto me, hold onto Ahnung …
I invite Grief into my house. I set up a guest room for her.
“How long will you stay?” I ask.
“You will let me know. Listen. Listen to your heart, to Ahnung’s heart. There is a beat, a strong heart beat in the silence and in the spaces.”
We sit by the fireplace and I offer her a cup of tea.
Into the night …. We tell each other stories. We sit in silence.
“Ahnung is with you.”
I look at at my new friend, “Teach me. Teach me to listen in a new way.”
And so my friend Grief has continued to teach me to listen in a new way.
Ahnung Way 