The Real Me

Herbie

Many of you may have recently received an email that looked like it was from me/Only to Grow, but was actually a phishing scam. I’m sorry if this is true for you, and apologize if your email got infected because of it.

A bummer, an inconvenience - with a silver lining. It was truly wonderful to hear from so many people across time and varied connections—even if just inquiring about the validity (or not) of an email. I feel profound gratitude for a visible reminder of the wide network of connections. 

It motivated me to write an end-of-year post and communicate for real. For me, the approach to Winter Solstice is always a sacred time of slowing down and going inward, a time that invites reflection, and I am happy for the nudge to honor the year’s closure.

* * * * * * * *

Hard left turn. Forget recapping the year as a whole - I have to drop into now. The real, real me.

I started writing this post while Herbie was alive, and I’m coming back to it after his death. Most of you have never heard of Herbie. He was a 7.2 pound dog, found in Mexico and transferred to CO, where my husband and I rescued him from a shelter. He was in our life for a brief and shining three weeks before his vulnerable self was snatched by a coyote. 

We had fallen in love as we cut out mats of hair; helped him heal through diarrhea, vomiting, and dehydration; saw to his neutering and rabies shot…and finally, got him groomed. Herbie came to life, making conversation through a whole vocabulary of noises, chasing our other dog Cosmo around, finally winning over the cat. He settled in. He felt safe and loved. 

Then—in a single tragic moment that I’ve reconstructed countless times, going over what happened and how it could have been different—Herbie dashed off to respond to the cries of Cosmo, who had been bitten by the coyote. That's when Herbie got nabbed. Cosmo, fortunately, will be fine. 

The loss of Herbie is profound.

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The last couple of months, I’ve been exploring the energy of “The Great Mother,” and I’ve been focusing on the creation and nurturing aspects of mothering. So, when Herbie died on my watch, my villainous voice went wild. I blamed myself for not taking enough precaution, for not seeing the reality of the wildlife where I live. I saw freshly his incredible vulnerability within this environment, and my naivety and heedlessness.

Later, I started to see these thoughts as an unhelpful story. As I began to drop the story, I felt sadness and grief more thoroughly.

An interesting thing is occurring now. I’m noticing that instead of the inner message, “You’re unfit to be a mother,” I can hear, “Letting go is also an integral part of what it means to mother.” I know The Great Mother encompasses loss as well as creation, that cycles of birth and death are the foundational truth of nature. And, it feels really different to digest this knowledge through grief.

I’m learning how much there is to let go of: any lingering notions of control, imagined futures that will never come to pass, the false hope that we can protect the ones we love. 

I don’t want this loss, this pain. And here it is. 

In this season calling for stillness and trusting, I am practicing resting in basic trust, the deep knowing that everything is okay, that I, and we all, are held. 

Haiku for Herbie

Three weeks of healing
through love power full love, your
spirit etched here now

* * * * * * * *

Honoring a handful of annual traditions

Here are a few end-of-year treats to connect us. Think of them as a small box of chocolates, little delights offered with smiling eyes. 🙂 Amidst grief, loss, and hardship, there is much to be grateful for.


And last but not least, a poem to close out the year. 

Mysteries, Yes

Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.

How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity,
while we ourselves dream of rising.

How two hands touch and the bonds
will never be broken.

How people come, from delight or the
scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.

Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.
Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.

- Mary Oliver