Soul Release

I know I have written about death before so I am in danger of repeating myself. In the preceding few weeks, many of my patients have moved onto Rainbow Bridge. Some have crossed over naturally but most have been assisted by a veterinarian. Euthanasia, in Greek, is derived from two roots: “eu” meaning well and “thanatos” meaning death. Put the two together and we have an easy and painless death or the act/method of causing death painlessly, to end suffering.

Veterinarians are unique in that we, as healers, are called upon to end a patient’s life. Through the years I have grappled with this act. I do not wish to bore you with my conscience, nor my struggles. Suffice it to say that I have found peace in this regard.

Dealing with death is an ever-changing process. As we grow and transform, so do our perceptions. I would like to share some of these thoughts with you.

Certain belief systems do not allow for the wilful ending of life. I view euthanasia as an act of compassion. If I have done all that is professionally possible to maintain quality of life, and so has my client, then I believe in ending suffering. It is the final gift I can give on this plane – release from earthly pain.

In the time leading up to the decision to euthanase, I make a point of having difficult conversations with the guardians. As people, most of us fear death – it is an unknown factor. In this instance we are called upon to face our fear. My understanding of this process is incomplete but I hold onto my own belief that our animal companions have a Soul. A Soul is energy and energy is indestructible. Energy transforms into other types of energy. This allows me to release the Soul into the next plane.

In some occasions I am honoured to be able to set up communications with the animals before they cross over. This often brings peace knowing that our companion is prepared to leave their body and begin the next stage of their journey.

In my practice I develop strong emotional ties with my clients and patients. Our therapies are based on respect. When I am asked to euthanase a patient it is an immense privilege. I have been entrusted with the last stages of life, which is so precious to all. I strive to make those moments meaningful, peaceful and stress-free.

Does any of this mean I don’t feel or cry, or hurt? Not at all. I am deeply affected by death and the emotions of my clients. This process is never easy but it is necessary. We will all die someday...

Benjamin

I have written about euthanasia before. And I will write about it again. Part of my journey as a veterinarian with my clients and their companions takes us right up to and across the doorway of death. It is a privilege and honour I cannot begin to explain to people who have never been there.

If you have never been loved by an animal, and if you have never realised how much you needed that love, you just won't get this story.

Tonight I gave myself permission to feel sad. Normally, I need to maintain a professional facade (which I end up taking home with me) of being calm, collected and totally okay with whatever pain or suffering I need to help my patients deal with.

But I gave myself permission not to do this, today.

Today, I euthanased a patient – a very special dog. And those who know me, know what a bitter-sweet moment this is for me.

Benjamin had been a patient at the hydro for just over four years. He came for a therapy session every week except on holidays. This is not a story about his therapy. This is a tribute to his therapeutic abilities which affected every one of us.

About 8 years ago, Benjamin’s human family was torn apart by a terrible tragedy. This story is not about that. It is rather, about the miracle of finding peace and the power to keep going, especially when you don't know how you are going to do it.

When I met Benjamin and his human companion, I had no inkling of the breadth and depth of the emotional trauma to which she had been subjected. Over the years, and the therapy sessions, the truth slowly emerged. Benjamin's human would often comment, “I would never have survived without Benjamin.”  It is easy to brush over comments like that when we hear them, because of our own level of experience. We assume it means what it would if we said it. She meant it as someone who has suffered great loss.

Later, as our therapy progressed, and the years passed, the comments would pertain to the extra time that had been created for them to revel in each other’s company. Benjamin's guardian was ever aware of the shortening days, and savoured each moment she had, to love and be loved by Benjamin.

Finally, the dreaded day arrived. All the therapists and his human family were present when I helped Benjamin to cross the Rainbow Bridge. We had prepared ourselves, mindfully and lovingly for this moment, for what seemed like a long time. It was peaceful and filled with acceptance.

Every animal companion is special. They have a gift of allowing us to feel more deeply and love completely. They allow us to share emotions with another without judgement or comment. They are able to convey the perfect amount of sympathy and compassion – without saying a word. And when it’s time to play, there is no limit to their enthusiasm and effort.

Benjamin was such a dog.