Forgiveness

About three months ago my Father killed my dog. Not on purpose, granted, but through carelessness and pigheadedness all the same. Despite repeated warnings and requests not to throw sticks, Dad thought he knew better and threw them anyway. Taz, the most harmless soul you'd ever meet, but eager and clumsy in an adorable kind of way, died from a small piece of stick piercing his lung and from resulting heart failure after surgery.

In trance I journeyed to his side at the veterinary hospital. I saw him awakening from his operation, sat next to him, hugged him and watched him smiling, bemused at the people outside buzzing around (Oh, it's a joy to see a dog grin!). I was so pleased to see him so perky. I though it would all be OK. Then the vibration changed and I felt his release from pain, only I misinterpreted it as his recovery. Of a kind it was, only not as I had hoped for. I called the hospital immediately, they wouldn't speak to me. When the surgeon called he said he was dreadfully sorry, he couldn't explain it, one minute Taz was sitting up bright as a button from his anaesthetic, recovering well, then he keeled over.

His passing broke my heart, despite my higher self knowing the truth and the perfect love and timing of his delivery. He was 7 years old and one of the joys in my life. He's the one immediately behind me in the photo.

Our usual vet apologised for not x-raying him in time - it was Saturday, he was having his morning coffee. Had they seen to him sooner, he admitted, Taz might have survived. I moved vets and took my pain and Taz's ashes with me.

I have had a lot to forgive my Father for over the years, and on the whole I thought I'd done it. It would seem not however; Taz's death has dredged everything to the surface and crossed words about this and other things have been spilt. No matter how I reason with myself, I cannot heal the gulf that has evolved. Sadly, I know Taz would have been dismayed at the separation from my Father. He loved his walks and he loved him. But the child in me refuses to forgive my Dad just now. I'm sorry Taz, I need time. Dad heals his pain by criticising me and my husband, and that hurts too much at the moment.

The ironic thing is that prior to his death I was researching reincarnation and death for a story I am writing. Sure, Taz's death has given me much depth to add to my narrative, but the pain has been too raw for me to physically write this stuff - wasn't there a less painful way to show me? This blog is the first thing I've written for three months. And I cannot meditate - every time I close my eyes at my sanctuary I see my Tazzy grinning at the nurses from his cage. When I was a younger I used to see friends and family in dreams the night before they died. I am frightened of what else the divine has to show me.

And so the forgiveness that I strive for is overdue on many levels: to myself for not standing up to my Father, and for abandoning my calling; to my Father for not listening to me, and continuing to be so inflexible; to the vets for not treating Taz in time; to spirit for taking my request for help with my writing so literally and handing me lessons which are so painful; to Tazzy for leaving me too soon. Philosophically I know the answers, but practice is harder than that.

I am trying to raise my vibration again, and I do hear the messages to me. I closed myself down for a couple of months, but now the petals are beginning to uncurl again. But my child wants to stay under the duvet; gently I am coaxing her out. Archangel Michael is cutting my cords, and I thank him for being there always. Funny thing is I keep pulling the card of Sonya (Doreen Virtue, Angels) who tells me my loved one is safe and settled, and always by my side. I know that Tazzy, and I love you for it. But as to your delivering us a companion to Rose (my other dog) - not funny! Yogi is a headcase! He's growing on us though boy, and we can see smatterings of your influence slowly emerging.

Help me forgive baby boy, and help us heal. God Bless.
xxx