Never Alone

It's hard to believe my grandmother has been gone an entire month now.  Sometimes it seems as though it was only yesterday when we gathered at her bedside; other times, it's like an eternity has passed.


Although her lungs were failing and her heart wasn't far behind, Grandma was still as sharp as a whip right up until the very end.  And it was clear that the tubes connecting to her oxygen tank were tethering her to a reality she found ill-suiting.  My thoughts upon returning home that snowy evening were full of relief for Grandma as she journeyed, oxygen mask-free, to the infinite in the arms of an angel (I know this because I saw that very angel standing over her in the hospital room).  But a sudden hollow quickly threatened to impede on my sense of peace.


I felt totally alone.  It was the first time I had to deal with the loss of a loved one without having a shoulder to cry on in my immediate vicinity.  I'd gloomily slumped myself in a chair for no more than 30 seconds before Quincy came to my aid, stretching his white paws up onto my lap.


"You are never alone," he said.


As he stared into my eyes, a stream of images began to flow through my mind:   my dear animal companions, my large and mostly local family, dozens of caring friends, loved ones on the other side who watch over and surprise me with souvenirs of their visits, angels and spirit guides, animal totems, other beings of light.  Their combined presence took the form of a warm golden glow that completely enveloped me--a presence that had been there all along whether or not I chose to see it.


"Thank you," I said, resigning from my brief indulgence in self pity.  There was no point in telling him he was right because he already knew.