grief – Feminism and Religion

Saying Goodbye to May by Sara Wright

Friday night’s dream alarmed me. I had already lost two dogs, and the dream told me that I had lost three. Was my present beloved animal companion at risk?

The weekend passed with increasing heat and dryness and a strange escalating depression that dominated the atmosphere around me. This, with so much astonishing autumn beauty on my doorstep.

Maybe this mood was why I was having so much trouble completing an essay (The Doorway) that when done would finish a heartbreaking odyssey that began last December 24^th when my beloved Hope almost died from heart failure. Eight months later Hope was dead. With Lucy’s death five weeks later, I was left dogless and bereft – except for the help from a couple of friends and May, a 15 -year – old Springer Spaniel who had stolen my heart months before when I first met her.

Instant recognition characterized our first meeting – woman and dog – linked through that mysterious animal thread that was grounded in deep compassion.

The Doorway by Sara Wright

When my dog Hope told me it was her time I listened and immediately prepared for our leave taking. In 13 years, I had never had to pry Hope out of her carrier. But this time when we arrived at the vet I did. I knew that Hope knew that she was going to die and that she was afraid, although it was her decision that led us here.

Wrapping her in a fleecy blue blanket I remember little except the precious bundle I held in my arms. Our eight- month ordeal with her exploding heart was about to end.

Seconds before she slipped away Hope raised her head, stared into my eyes with liquid onyx as she kissed away a flood of tears. Always keyed into my every mood and behavior this final gesture of undying love was no surprise.

The grave was waiting, but I took my time, feeling the power of Hope’s presence as I bathed and anointed her with sweet lemongrass and then lay with her on the porch preparing us both for the final goodbye. Murmuring repeatedly the words ‘I love you -we will never be separated’. I believed.

Autumn Light by Sara Wright

Where are they?

September’s light
illuminates one butterfly
in flight
Bittersweet losses
cast slanted shadows
pierce cool nights

morning mist
lifts as
light streams
through translucent
leaves

one acorn falls…

autumn’s breath
a gift of
primal scent

Lucy’s Light by Sara Wright

12/?/ 13 – 7/21/25 written morning after her death 22ⁿ^d

Purple and scarlet
orange flames
lemon and gold
lavender blue
cobalt hues
we are
dogs,
bees, bears,
butterflies,
hummingbirds too
Innocence seeking
a place
we once knew…
Grief pulled us down
into an old familiar
place. Darkness reigned
hopelessness too.
All we had was each other
At Hecate’s Crossroad
she couldn’t let go
and either could I
Lucy was my dog
you see
A ‘familiar’
just like me.
I couldn’t read her.
Forced to make
the decision
for us both
I let her go…
When we lay together
that one last time
nestled under
a purple shroud
she breathed
Feathers of Light
a Tree circle
marks her grave
Earth took her in
roots, soil, leaves
Hemlock
holds
her body
like
I once did.
Between North and East
Bear Medicine flowed
through a crack
in the Round…
Rising
on the wings
of cool green lights
she lives …
Firefly Nights.

Hospicing Hope Continued by Sara Wright

Part 2, You can read last week’s post here.

Walking over to Hope’s gravestone early the next morning, I immediately noted the passionflower was still open. Very Unusual. But then, crucifixion and abandonment by someone this dog loved characterized the last two months of Hope’s life, the dark side associated with the mysterious power that permeates this wild vine and flower. When this passionflower started blooming profusely in the house months before ki’s time, I felt the threat looming…

A few minutes later after the sun cast her fire over the hillside where Hope’s body lay, masses of golden swallowtails dipped and soared around her grave. Oh, that’s when I felt Hope surrounding us with love. I am well she told me and flying with the butterflies as you can see…

The earth moved beneath my feet.

One month later swallowtails continue to fly around Hope’s grave.

Hospicing Hope by Sara Wright

9/30/2012 – 6/11/2025

6/12

Part One

Hope’s black eyes pierced my soul- body as she stood staring through me, ears erect. It was time. Are you sure? Yes. She lay back down. I immediately got up.

Walking helps me to process what I must do. A half an hour later I called.

A numbing drive, walking into a room lit with three candles, and a brief wait before the two kindly women appeared.

Hope washed my tearful face as I held her, reminding me that we would never be separated. For thirteen years she had showered me with kisses beginning each day and again at night before we slept. A long low sigh, before Hope took her last breath. Her body suddenly felt limp, heavy in my arms. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that her heaped up overflowing heart had ceased to beat.

Lucy, her twelve year old adopted sister peered anxiously at me as I looked down at her, eyes perplexed. Seconds later Lucy’s pencil thin tail went limp as the knowing seeped in. As usual we conversed beneath words.

A blurry drive home.

Samhain and the Waters of Hurricanes Helene and Milton, part 2 by Susan Foster

Part 1 was posted yesterday

On Samhain we are given the opportunity to come together in community to grieve our losses. We grieve for all those we have known personally who have passed over. But this year we also grieve for all those who lost their lives and homes in Hurricanes Helene and Milton and in the many other disasters around the world. We grieve as well for the other losses that occurred—of homes, of jobs, of community, of pets (many of whom also died or were separated from their owners). The losses are so enormous and overwhelming that we need the support that community provides to cope with them. We need to bind together in the strength of community to express our sorrow. Being aware of the death from so many natural disasters helps us to listen to the earth to see what She is telling us, to hear Her crying because She is weakened and out of balance, breaking apart under the strain.

Feeling the earth’s grief from the hurts inflicted upon Her enables us to take stock of our policies, to change our course while we still can. As we float downstream on our raft, we can ignore what we see around us until we see the rapids ahead and say to ourselves, before we plunge over them, “Why didn’t we change course earlier?”

Gift From the Beyond, part 2 by Sara Wright

Part 1 was posted yesterday

My friend Lise sent me some words on the eve of Davey’s birthday (unbeknown to me until the 6^th) that reminded me of how often I spoke to him during those months.

“The reason I pray to the dead is I trust their timing. They have all the time in the world, after all, and they also see the big picture and the long story. I pray to the dead because, I admit, how little I know, how little I can understand, and how vast the mystery is of the soul.

Let me circle myself with the living who can hold both, with the dead who can hold it all. We are entangled souls…. We are all praying together, with the flowers, the trees, with all that is.” (I substitute talk for pray because that is what I do)

Gift From the Beyond, part 1 by Sara Wright

The words came unbidden “go outdoors”. It was dark but I felt my way to the door. I always listen when Nature calls.

I had just re -membered that Davey’s birthday was the next day. ‘Happy birthday Beloved’. My little brother would have been 75. I calculated the years with difficulty imagining what it would have been like if he had lived…

Dead at 21 from a self – inflicted gunshot wound, part of me died with my Gemini Twin. I failed him at the end, turning into a parent who was incapable of being emotionally present to listen to a young boy on the verge of adulthood at a time of desperate need. Instead, I parroted my parents’ script, not having developed one of my own…

”You have everything to live for,” I screamed when Davey tried to tell me that he was tired of living.

I no longer blame myself for my inadequacy, but regrets linger on just the same.

It would be eleven years before I was able to begin grieving. Catapulted out of my body at the time of my brother’s death I felt nothing for years as I self- medicated with alcohol and a dreary round of boyfriends while being unable to be emotionally present for my own young children. To feel one must inhabit a body but mine was overflowing with anguish and abandonment. Too dangerous to go there. Isolated and alone, I huddled in my house in silent torment, an absentee mother following the parental script with children of my own.

Branwen, Goddess of Grief by Kelle ban Dea

This midwinter has been a time of sadness so far. Two major deaths in the family, and two baby losses, the grief has come thick and fast for me and my kin this season. At a time when we are usually all gathering to celebrate the rebirth of the light in the dark, my spiritual practice is all at sea, leaving me wondering how I can call on Goddess, on Mother of God, at this time.

Then I remember Branwen.