Go to the Door Laughing (Instructions for a Heart in Grief)

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning is a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness
Some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.

Welcome, and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows
Who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture.

Still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice
Go to the door laughing
And invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes
For each has been sent
As a guide from beyond.
                         ~Rumi

Saturday morning I was not laughing. I was in Charleston, South Carolina to hear Sue Monk Kidd speak on the craft of Writing with Soul. At 8 a.m. my unexpected visitor arrived by cell phone. It rang  loudly, waking me from a fitful dream. I answered to a tear stained voice telling me that Doobey, our beloved dachshund dog-child, had passed away. She was only six years old.

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning is a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness
Some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.

After only 15 hours in Charleston, I packed my black canvas bag in the rented dodge and turned toward Atlanta. How could this have happened? Doobey was a rescue dog, a faithful companion who loved lap perching, blanket snuggling and riding with the windows down. She was healthy--never had so much as indigestion in six years. I didn't get to say goodbye. Did she suffer? Was it peaceful? How could liver disease take her so quickly? My mind was pressed heavy with questions, my heart sinking with the weight of the void. I sped down the interstate, trees and wildflowers all a blur, needing to be with my family, to rejoin the pack as we mourned the passing of one of our own. 

Welcome, and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows
Who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture.

Three hours into the drive home I needed coffee. My eyes and heart were drooping so I exited the highway in search of java. At the off-ramp intersection I looked to the left and to the right, wondering which direction would be more likely to yield an awakening elixir. As I gazed at the red light I noticed there, in front of me glowing like a green halo, was a Starbucks sign.(And why not? They are taking over the world, ya know.) As I pulled into the parking lot there were no spaces available, forcing me to park across the lot at a hotel.  A few minutes later, ice vanilla latte in hand, I crossed the parking lot toward my rented dodge to resume the journey home. Until...

I heard their voices before I could see them. A throng of voices--no. More than a throng. A bombastic hallelujah congregation--a Tabernacle Choir--of voices erupted into the air. I actually looked up. And around. Where was this coming from? It was all I could do to follow the sound. Every hair on my body stood up in holy reverence and beckoned me forward. It was coming from the lobby of the the hotel. What on earth...? I walked through the doors to see thirty or forty dark skinned, beautifully shining (beaming, actually) faces singing "Keep on Making a Way." You wanna talk rapture? This was it, for me. I stood there, transfixed. Or perhaps transfigured.

Still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

I put my car keys, cell phone and cafe latte on the lobby's side table in front of a large decorative bowl of potpourri or some such thing, then turned my face back to the choir. The room was not large. 20'x30' max with 9ft ceilings, which made the sound explode, reverberate and then tackle the sternum, the solar plexus, and the diaphragm. It entered my ears and blood stream simultaneously. The tears came effortlessly, before I even realized I was crying. It was the kind of crying motivated by sheer awe. My dog had died and there I was in the middle of Nowhere, Georgia, in the presence of Spirit. The side table, my alter. The choir, my angels. The song, my benediction.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice
Go to the door laughing
And invite them in.

Five paces behind me was bright sun beating on black asphalt, a few smokers sitting under the green umbrellas of Starbucks, traffic. Five paces in front of me: Glory. With a shudder I turned to look at the marquis of the hotel to get my bearings, to make sure it was all real. The Comfort Inn. I felt a disorienting moment of wooziness as I wondered if it was all real and reached out to steady myself on the side table. That's when Doobey reached out her wet nose to nuzzle my hand. I looked down to see it was only my ice latte melting, condensation dripping from the plastic cup onto my hand. I giggled through the tears and reached for my latte. That's when I noticed the sign. The potpourri bowl I had stacked my keys, phone and latte against was not a potpourri bowl at all. It was full of yellow, orange and green dog biscuits, with a sign that read "We at Comfort Inn welcome you and your dog. Your stay with us is a treat, so enjoy one with us."

Be grateful for whoever comes
For each has been sent
As a guide from beyond.

I grabbed a cookie and noticed it was in the shape of a hound. Short legs, squatty feet, long muzzle and upturned tail like Doobey. I clutched it to my heart and sank to the floor. I sobbed. And laughed. And sobbed again--all to the soundtrack of southern soul-piercing praise. An unusual eulogy: I'd come to Starbucks and found Comfort. I just needed refreshment and got Refreshed. I needed to stay awake, and found Awakening. An hour later the rehearsal was ending and by then the tears and laughter had passed into a trance-like breathing, a calm witness to the moment. When the last song ended, I grabbed my things, settled into the dodge and returned to I-20 as the sun was dipping low and red on the horizon. I placed the dog cookie on the seat for Doobey and rolled down the windows  so we could feel the wind in our hair. We drove the last miles home, together.

Doobey Girl
Turtle Doo
Xena Doo-Warrior Princess
We Miss You
And through the tears
We go to the door
Laughing
September 16, 2006   

Comments

[Louise]

Thank you, your email arrived a few days ago. This morning my last rat Stewart crossed the rainbow bridge. For some reason I opened your email and found this post. It might seem a small thing, to loose a rat, but Stewart was the last of many. The last of many who have shown us that it is not the size, or shape of the body that matters but the strength and light of the spirit within.
I am sure that Doobey will be there to greet you when you follow him, just as all my boys and girls will be there for me. I will try and open the door with a laugh for Stewart.

[Louffi]

I just found this wonderful text and I'm crying now. Heartfelt greetings from Germany, far over the ocean, but close to you and your Doobey girl. I lost my Wanda-Cat in August and it still hurts, but I know she's fine now, my girl.

Kind regards,
Nicole

[ART TEA LIFE]

This is my first time here....

Wow.

And Your Sweet Doobey Girl...

I am so sorry.

My thoughts are of the heart that must be broken there in you.

ohhh I am just so sorry.

I know I won't be able to bear it when my old girl goes....and that pain makes me feel your pain in some way.

Love to you.
Mean it.
S.

[Laurie]

I've been a fan of Duirwaigh for a long time, and never visit any part of the site without leaving feeling moved, inspired or peaceful (or all three.) And this visit is no exception. I agree with what Rena said in her post... this is the most touching thing I've read in a long time. As a "dog mom" myself to many rescued dogs who live in my home as well as in my memories (and as a fan of Rumi), I am deeply moved by your experience and the beautiful way you wrote about it. May you continue to find comfort in your loving, living memories of Doobey, and in the companionship of future dogs who will show up in need of your loving home (for they too are honorable guests and guides from beyond!)

This is one of my favorite poems, and I hope you'll like it too. Thank you for sharing your lovely, uplifting story. Much peace to you and to sweet Doobey.

We Have A Secret

We have a secret, you and I
that no one else shall know,
for who but I can see you lie
each night in fire glow?
And who but I can reach my hand
before we go to bed
and feel the living warmth of you
and touch your silken head?
And only I walk woodland paths
and see ahead of me,
your small form racing with the wind
so young again, and free.
And only I can see you swim
in every brook I pass
and when I call, no one but I
can see the bending grass.

Author Unknown

[Rena]

Hi!

A friend sent me the link to your "knock at the duir" video quite a while ago, and i bookmarked the addie. Several weeks ago I needed a wee bit of inspiration and I found myself knocking. . .

i have visited this blog ever since i discovered it then. it's been awhile since I have felt connected to anyone across the wire, as such webs can often be flimsy if not downright illusory. But I don't think of you as either. I come here and backtrack through your journals and I admire your writing and your vision and realize that in our times the Internet is a way for kindred souls to connect.

Having said that, I've noted that it's been a little while since you've posted. i hope that you are well. Certainly, for what it's worth from a stranger, you are missed.

Kiotsukete.

[Laura]

Not that it means much, but on my blog I've awarded this post a Perfect Post award. That's the most touching thing I've read in ages.

I'm glad you found the comfort you needed.

[Dion]

I can see your sweet little Doobey running around on the Other Side, barking and having a great time! I am most certain that he is around you all of the time....he wouldn't have it any other way! There is no love so pure as our dogs' love for us....it is so unconditional. Aren't we so blessed to have shared in that?!! Our greatest consolation is that when we pass over our precious four-legged family members will be the first to greet us.... Blessings to all, Dion ( In memory of my Dearest Heart, Buster 1989-1995)

[Darlene]

I, too, lost my most beloved companion just 6 months ago. He died three days after my Dad's death. I think he knew Dad needed his round-about-tail wag there in heaven. I miss them both so very much. Dad was 82 and Teddy was 13. They are gone but never forgotten as long as our hearts live on.