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Maggie’s Gone

My teacher and I exchanged about half a pleasantry over the phone.   I started crying and he went right to work.

He said, “Is Maggie black with yellow eyes?   All I can see are these huge yellow eyes,”.  I could hear him smiling.  Then he said, “She’s starting to move into spirit.  .  .  ”

At the same time, he saw Maggie stomping around in a mini tantrum.  She didn’t want to go because this was such a great lifetime and she’d had a few that weren’t so great.  Besides, she didn’t feel finished working with our 7-year-old daughter.

That explained why Maggie had recently moved into our daughter’s bedroom.

Apparently she was busy teaching our girl how to have adventures:  .  .  .  and this is how you catch a mouse .  .  .  because, as David explained, there is an art to it.  It made sense.  In our family, both Maggie and our girl were the bold, creative ones.  The risk-takers.

Maggie was also helping me cope with stressors dating back to 2009.  Trying to calm me down, my teacher explained.  Since fall the house is quiet and I’ve been seeking Maggie out.  Not to touch her–she had begun to isolate herself–but just to be sure of her.   Her presence has been calming.

David explained to Maggie that she’d been an excellent teacher.  That my daughter and I had absorbed her lessons and we were going to be fine on our own.  He said he could see how uncomfortable she was, so if she felt ready he could help her let go of her work and prepare to leave her body.

As we talked Maggie left my daughter’s room, came to the top of the stairs and watched while David finished the reading.   She croaked out a comment, then began the arduous task of descending the stairs.

We spent the next several hours in the sun in her beloved garden.  I told her everything I loved and admired about her and told stories from her life.  She rubbed her cheek against me and sat on my lap.  It’s been been forever since she let me hold her; it was the perfect gift on our last day together.

I invited her to come back and be our pet again.  I said we would keep one eye out for her but we would also understand if she’d like to take a break, or work with someone else.

At 4:00 the vet and her assistant came.   Gentle and trusting as ever, Maggie was euthanized on my lap in the backyard.  My husband and I each held her for a moment then the assistant wrapped her up like a baby and took her body away to be cremated.  I miss her every day.

Maggie had it all.  She came and demonstrated what it looks like when you’re creative, kind and brave.   If we’re smart we’ll pull up our bootstraps and follow her lead, as we move through these interesting times.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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