Morgan: The Emotions that Follow Loss
29 July 2011
Can’t eat. I felt numb on the ferry trip here to the Isle of Wight. It felt as though it wasn’t really happening and at some point I’d wake up from this terrible nightmare and Morgan would be there with smiling eyes and joy shining out from his body like golden beams of light.
Jo and I would bring Morgan on holiday here. We’d travel on a ferry with a deck section for dogs and a doggie watering station inside. Morgan was always a brilliant traveller, taking everything in his stride. Life was one big adventure for him and he loved new places and new smells.
Off the ferry I meet two dogs: a Yorkshire terrier called Poppy who makes a big fuss of me and is very happy, and a gentle collie called Sky, who immediately feels my pain and licks my hands over and over again as she looks, concerned, into my eyes.
I explain to her male guardians, ‘I lost my dog two days ago.’
My words wobble before I manage to finish the sentence. I can see the men understand and are moved, but are struggling to find the right words in reply.
‘He was 17 years old,’ I tell them, knowing this will make it easier.
‘That’s a good age,’ says the man closer to me.
I nod in agreement, as words are hard to say when you’re trying to swallow tears. ‘Have a good day,’ is the most I can muster and I have to leave before the tears spring forth.
Only now do I see the significance of the dogs’ names – Poppy being the flower of remembrance and Sky being where heaven resides. It feels like a sign.
I have retreated to Stewart’s island home. Stewart is a Maine Coon cat who came to me via clients, Belinda and Laura. Over the years I helped him he brought me and his two female guardians closer together and had a profound effect on my life that continues to this day. He transitioned in 2009.
When we arrive at our friends’ home we find a card waiting for us with an image on the front of a dog outline similar to Morgan. There are also some flowers and part of the bunch is a single rhododendron bloom. Jo bought exactly the same colour of rhododendron for Morgan. It is in a vase back home. This feels like another gentle confirmation that we’re in the right place at the right time.
I note the colours of the bouquet are the higher chakra colours: indigo, violet and white. I wonder whether they were requested or if the florist put them together by coincidence. Again, this feels symbolic, because now Morgan is in a higher realm, living a higher-vibrational existence.
Someone e-mails me an image of a pink rose, the colour of the heart chakra and a symbol of love.
Online I read the Daily Good message: ‘Turn your wounds into wisdom’ – Oprah Winfrey.
So many things feel like messages or signs from Morgan, perfectly orchestrated.
Leaving our home and coming away to our friends’ house has removed us from the intensity of emotions and memories at home. I walk past a life-like drawing of Stewart and hear ‘He’s OK, you know.’ I recognize his voice and know he is referring to Morgan.
However, I still have no appetite. Eating, walking and talking are all too much. It is a struggle to do anything. I make myself go through the motions of normal life.
It’s hard to grieve with your partner when you grieve in a different way. Jo wants to go out and do things. I want to sit and write about Morgan, reflect and contemplate. It helps me feel close to him.
She’s left again to go to the shops. This time in a huff. She slammed the door on the way out, stating, ‘I’m grieving too, you know!’ She’s really in a huff because she tried to buy me a present to cheer me up, but the credit card was rejected and we will be charged a fee – the act of kindness backfired.
Still, the slamming of the door feels like an assault. Everything feels overwhelming. I can hear a band drumming in the centre of Cowes, and although it is streets away, it is too loud. I need silence. I wonder how I can go on without Morgan. It feels too painful to stay here without him.
Later we go to the island’s zoo so that I can visit Casper, the white lion, for guidance. We’ve met on previous visits to the island and I admire him greatly.
When I arrive at his enclosure he immediately beams white light into my heart from his third eye chakra.
‘Be calm,’ he instructs. ‘We white lions will support you. You need a greater energetic support. Morgan did all he could.’
The underlying sense is Morgan did all he could within his means.
Casper’s next message is: ‘Love large’.
Then I feel him explain that a calm strong heart is a courageous heart.
His final message to me is: ‘Find your lion-hearted courage.’
Raw, animalistic howls of grief again late this evening. Mine. It is hard to put what I feel into words; it’s along the lines of having my solar plexus ripped out. It is the agonizing ripping ache of separation. It’s physical and uncontrollable.
Now I will honour Morgan with the depth of my love and pain at our physical separation. I will have to find my lion-hearted courage tomorrow…
31 July
While I am lying outside in the sunshine, Morgan instructs me to write a book about animals going through the transition of death as a supportive guide for all animal lovers. He tells me the book is to include my personal journey with him and also true-life cases of my clients and their animals, based on animal communication and the animals’ views of dying and death. I write the outline and chapter headings in about 30 minutes – all communicated by Morgan. It feels good.
When it comes time to leave the comfort of my friends’ home, my emotions are triggered again. I gather up the photo of Morgan, the flowers and sympathy card. We have to go home now, but it’s not home without him. It’s empty and lifeless.
Yet I know I need to return for Texas. He needs his family too and not only has his environment changed now there are no bits of carpet and rug, but his canine companion and two human friends are missing too.
I have mixed emotions on the ferry back. I sit gazing out at the vastness of the sea and feel deep sadness at facing life without Morgan by my side, but I’m also looking forward to seeing Texas and gathering his furry ginger body up into my arms. I feel sure he’ll be aware of our return and will be waiting for us.
As predicted, Texas runs up the centre of the road to our car the moment we park. It’s great to see him. Understandably, he’s out of sorts and takes a couple of hours to settle. We play with his mouse in the garden and feed him loads, and he helps make up a fresh bed through his normal trick of lying on it, like a resplendent lion king, while we’re still trying to change the bottom sheet and duvet cover. For a moment, life feels normal, but then I glance to my side of the bed and there’s empty space where Morgan’s bed should be that echoes the emptiness in my heart.
1 August
Nothing feels right.
I light the white peace and green heart candles in the fireplace and a stick of incense. I feel numb again. The sun is shining brightly outside but not within me.
Jo has just walked in and commented, ‘It feels so empty.’
Very. I can’t believe I have to teach a course this Saturday. I don’t know how I’m going to speak. Trust Morgan to transition just before the hottest day of the year and before my ‘Empowering Animals’ course for experienced students.
It’s less than a week since Morgan ascended and I can still hardly eat. I can’t talk to anyone. I don’t want to do anything. Yet Jo continues with life. ‘Because it’s got to be done,’ she tells me.
I don’t want to be here.
2 August
I am very slowly beginning to accept what has happened, but there is a part of me that doesn’t want to. I realize a part of me wants to stay in the agony of my loss because I don’t want to accept that Morgan has gone. It’s denial. I know it isn’t healthy. Life evolves – it changes and moves. Many animals have told me during communication that life is circular and this makes sense to me.
I begin to make sure the business that Morgan co-created continues to flow. Animal Thoughts is really his. I’m not sure many people would understand that. But part of my loss is that my business partner is no longer here with me. He was always helping me make decisions about which way to turn next.
At the moment he is having a rest. It sounds absurd writing it down, but RIP translates to ‘He who rests in peace’. I’ve created a tribute page to Morgan on my website and when I find the words I’ll add text there too. At the moment it’s a picture of him sitting next to ‘Special’ graffiti and a picture of him in his favourite wood, chuffed to bits that he’s found a discarded bone, which he’s carrying around like a trophy, tail wagging joyfully from side to side.
Life continues and we go to the cinema to watch the final Harry Potter film. We chose not to go before so we could spend every last moment with Morgan, realizing his struggle was gaining momentum and his life force ebbing away. All through the film the theme is light versus dark. It reminds me of the Light that Morgan shines: always being positive and overcoming difficulties. The film ends and my automatic thought is We need to get back to Morgan.
As soon as I realize what I’ve thought, I start to sob. Between tears I struggle to tell Jo why I’m crying. She understands. Other people in the cinema probably think I’m crying because it’s the end of the last Harry Potter film.
When I get home there is a message waiting:
‘Dear Pea,
I was very moved by your message in the newsletter about dear Morgan. He was, is and will remain your best friend. That sounds a simple and understated way of describing such a special spirit who came into your life, but “friend” is a huge connection of love, which we are blessed with, and “best” friend therefore is the pinnacle of this love, which we share so rarely and with so very few.
My heart goes out to you at this moment because Morgan has a journey to travel of his own – as we shall all have to do when that time comes – however, when his journey is completed, you will find out that he is then able to be there with you at all times, wherever you go in this world. He has not gone; he will advise you with stronger and stronger messages and communications – I know that you do know this fact in your heart already, but it is still a painful time for you and all those who knew and loved Morgan as the spirit who walked this Earth.
Very soon you will start to see the little signs of his presence: he will make you laugh when you least expect it, he will give you the answer to something as you raise the question, he will run across your path when you are wondering which route to take.
All my love and thoughts to you and to Morgan, and thank you, Pea, for all the help and kindness that you show in communicating between the human spirit and the spirit of our beautiful animal friends across this strange, wonderful and sometimes difficult world. The only thing I can say is the best is yet to come for you and for Morgan – still with you, still communicating and now stronger than ever.
All my love,
Caroline x’
It was such a beautiful message, I was smiling when I replied:
‘Thank you so much for taking the time to write this. I am so moved by it. Strangely, I went away at the weekend and ended up picking up a small wooden love heart with “best friend” written on it. I wasn’t sure why, I was just drawn to it, but the thought of Morgan was there in my mind. I believe what you’ve written and Morgan has even made a little contact already, but the physical loss of him feels huge right now, as I was caring for him 24/7 for many months before he ascended.’
Caroline responded:
‘Physical loss is huge. You are still caring for Morgan by wishing him a calm journey and giving him the gift of a warm, comfortable spot in your heart for his well-earned rest. I don’t think it was strange you found the love heart from your “best friend” – he’s telling you not to worry. He was here for a good long time and did everything asked of him. He may need a little peaceful nap right now, while still keeping you safe. He says, “Think of me as curled up asleep in my favourite spot. Go about your day with renewed energy and happiness. I will soon be awake, strong, refreshed and raring to go.” What you can achieve together from then on will be absolutely amazing.’
3 August
One week to the day since Morgan ascended and 11:11 a.m. has come and gone unnoticed. I am on a train to Leeds to visit my adoptive mother, Mary. I am still struggling to be at home without Morgan. Jo is busy working on her designs for two shows and has no choice but to move forward. Yet she wants the TV on, I don’t. She wants to play her music loud, I need complete silence.
A man in the seats next to me is on his mobile. He’s been on it for over 20 minutes. Every cell in my body is screaming, ‘Quiet!’ I need silence. I foolishly think, Don’t you know a very special dog has just died? I imagine this is how it feels for anyone who has just experienced a very significant loss. How can the rest of the world keep moving when my own world has fallen apart?
Grief comes out in different ways. Over the past two days I’ve had a ‘dead’ left arm – heavy, numb and aching. It feels as though something is trapped. I know it’s my grief.
Mary understands how meaningful my relationship with Morgan was and how huge this loss is for me. This quiet understanding enables me to feel more able to laugh and smile today.
5 August
Thankfully the fog is lifting a little. Part of me welcomes the relief, yet part of me struggles to move forward because it feels like a betrayal of the significance of my loss. It’s a funny thing, human nature.
I remind myself that one of Morgan’s major roles in life was to be happy and he liked people around him to be happy too.
6 August
Arrived home from Leeds to more sympathy cards. These cards are a comfort, because people are acknowledging my grief. The first one has beautiful pink roses on the front and a comforting message inside. I also receive a real photo print of a yellow rose from neighbours who would regularly see me take Morgan into the woods for his morning walk. The pink and yellow roses feel like a sign that Morgan is still close and they warm my heart.
Signs are personal – you either feel a connection or you don’t. When you do, the trick is believing it rather than questioning it all the time.
I have the workshop tomorrow. Attaching the course information to a group e-mail, I explain I will try not to let the students down.
Amanda sweetly replies:
You could NEVER let us down. If you do not feel strong enough, you can take strength from us. We will be there to support you as you have supported us. Thinking of you,
Lots of love,
Amanda.’
7 August: ‘Empowering Animals’ Stage 1
Before I even step a foot through the church hall door, the thought strikes me: I wonder whether one of the students will bring me a rose as a sign from Morgan?
This London venue is where I’m to hold the first part of my ‘Empowering Animals’ animal communication course. I’m immediately struck by an empty feeling. Morgan’s toenails aren’t clattering across the wooden floor as he checks out every nook and cranny for tasty morsels. It’s my first workshop without my teacher and loyal mentor. He’s the driving force, the love and the light. He’s my greatest adviser and fills me with courage and confidence. I feel terribly vulnerable without him, but I am determined not to let anyone down.
As I finish unpacking, the first student arrives. She greets me in a matter-of-fact way, as though Morgan, the greatest influence in my 40 years of living, has not died. I don’t know how to react. I go along with the charade. She kindly helps me put out the chairs and then others begin arriving.
How am I going to do this? I question myself.
Once the tables and chairs are all arranged and everyone has a hot drink, I invite them to sit down. I start by welcoming them and then go on to share that today may be very difficult for me. My voice already begins to waver and I have to stop talking to gather myself. Everything feels so painful without Morgan.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve come equipped,’ I joke, pointing to two boxes of tissues on a nearby table. ‘I have a box of tissues for all of you and another box for myself!’
Laughter ripples through the room.
‘Today may be a living example of power animals at work,’ I explain. ‘I really need the support of my animal friends today and I’ve brought many of them with me.’
I refer to the photos of dogs, cats and Casper the lion which are propped up on my desk as energetic links to their true essence. I also have a photo of Morgan, but I don’t think he will be making an appearance; he is settling into his non-physical energetic form.
Over the course of the day the students are kind and gentle, and I am totally blown away by the animals. They demonstrate the support, guidance and courage they can give as empowering ‘power’ animals.
As there are five students instead of the full six, I realize I will have to partner someone during each exercise. I wonder whether Morgan had a hand in this. By partnering I will be forced to receive empowering advice, leaving no time to get reflective or emotional about my loss.
There is an exercise in my workshop which involves gifts. I’ve requested everyone bring a gift for another student, something personal but inexpensive. Normally I would ask an animal to choose the student or I’d ask spirit to tell me who to partner up, or sometimes I’d ask Morgan for help, but for this exercise I intuitively feel I have to offer up a visual choice. Taking six squares of paper, I write down three pairs of numbers and let everyone pick one. I have the last piece and partner a student called Cathy. I give her a gift of a feather from Lucy, a very opinionated goose and excellent animal communication teacher. Cathy has brought her gift down from Newcastle upon Tyne inside a Tupperware box cushioned with cotton wool. She presents me with a yellow rose whose petals are a gentle pink on the inside. My heart bursts open with warmth.
‘I wondered if someone would bring me a rose today,’ I tell her, smiling and thankful.
‘There’s a story behind this rose,’ she says. ‘When you asked us all to bring a gift of special significance I couldn’t think what to choose. Later I was doing some agonizing muscle-stretching on the floor and not thinking about it at all when the inspiration to bring a bud came to me. On reflection, I can’t really say where it came from, but I felt it might be from Max, our dog in spirit. I asked my partner, Ali, if it was OK with her to bring it, and she told me she had known it would be coming and had been watching it for just over a week because of some “inner knowing” which she also felt was Max. The rose also appeared to collaborate, because even though it had been awful weather that week, wet and windy and not what roses like at all, it was blooming beautifully. Ali gave me one bud in perfect condition. On the journey down I felt that it would somehow go to you rather than another student. I just didn’t know how.’
Cathy’s gift feels like another little ‘hello from heaven’ and is a huge comfort.
In the next exercise I am paired with a student called Amanda, who is linking in with Casper.
I ask, ‘Who is Morgan sending to me?’
Casper shows Amanda an image. ‘I can see a black dog, Pea,’ she tells me. ‘It’s a colour picture, but blurred shape. A black dog is coming to you.’
It’s the image I received earlier: a black dog of indiscernible breed.
‘I think Morgan may have joined with Casper to give me that impression,’ Amanda confides.
I haven’t mentioned the black dog to anyone, but Amanda has received an image that resonates with my own. This is the second sign of the black dog.
Jo has kindly brought me to Glastonbury today to visit my shamanic healer. She asked me what I wanted to do and I felt Glastonbury calling me.
I am losing my physical form, losing my grounding, and I recognize I need some outside help. I feel as though I am disintegrating and parts of my energy are spreading far and wide. I guess many might describe this feeling as ‘falling apart’.
All I share with the shaman is that Morgan has ascended and that I wish to feel stronger – nothing more. At the end of a powerful session one of the first things he says to me is, ‘Are you aware of a black dog? Are you working with a black dog?’
I stifle a laugh and then, smiling, say, ‘That’s interesting. Very soon after Morgan ascended he showed me an image of a black dog faraway. Then yesterday one of my students told me a black dog was coming to me.’
‘I feel the black dog is already here with you,’ the shaman asserts. ‘His presence is large. He comes across as stocky and stubborn.’
‘Morgan was stocky and stubborn,’ I observe. ‘I like stubborn dogs.’
The shaman says, ‘I feel he’s part of the same soul group as Morgan. I see Morgan as this very large and powerful gold light over you and your heart area and the black dog feels connected to Morgan.’
It is wonderful to hear that Morgan is close and a large gold presence over me. This is also further confirmation that a black dog is on his way. This is the third sign of the black dog.
While I am having my healing session Jo goes for a wander around the shops. Once I’m out of the session she tells me, ‘I’ve got something for you.’
I have to wait until we’re at our hotel to find out what it is.
‘I saw the spine on the shelf,’ she says. ‘I pulled it out and looked at the back cover and then flipped through the pages and changed my mind and felt it wasn’t for you, but when I turned it over to look at the front cover I couldn’t believe it.’
She hands me the book. I look at the front cover and into the gentle wise eyes of a dog looking to the right in the way that Morgan would often look. I have a photo of him in the same pose. The ears of the dog are shaped just like Morgan’s and look just as soft, but I’m looking at a pure black dog. And it’s a book that’s saying it’s all right to grieve when an animal dies.
This is the fourth sign.