Dragonflies

Yesterday was one of the worst, most upsetting, and most inspiring days in my life.

I could even call it an epiphany, a life changing day in my life. Whatever it was, I feel compelled now to record it before the emotion is taken over, before the memory is just a memory.

My dog is going to die this week. I know that for most people, an event like this is not as upsetting as a human dying, but when you treat your dogs like a member of family, share your bed, your food, show them unconditional love, death can be the worst experience.

I got home from errands around 11. Indy was sitting in his puppy bed, cooling himself down from the heat by the fan, and Raisin was nowhere in sight. I knew immediately, she may never come back.

I texted my parents: they found another mass cell. This time it was on her lymph node, and once the cancer hits there, it spreads fast. My dad said she may not come home, they were waiting to see what the doctor said.

Upon receiving this message, I collapsed. I broke down into tears, fell to the floor and sobbed. I love that dog, she's like a sister to me. To even consider walking around my house without tripping over her, or watching her try to chase the cat outside through the window glass, to no longer pass food to her under the table, or brush the mysterious amount of hair from her back, was just to much.

I tried to not think about it as I waited for my parents to call back with news. I tried cleaning my room, my car, listening to the radio, cooking, anything to take my mind off of what was to come. But I couldn't. I couldn't stop thinking about her, about what life after her would be like. I cried, and cried and cried.

When I was living in Rhode Island, whenever there was a moment when I couldn't control my emotions, when I was sad or angry or confused, I always went to a place where I felt God's presence. I always drove to the beach, put my feet in water, and just silently prayed. Something about being alone and focusing on a wonder that God created always calmed me, made me realize that life wasn't as difficult as I made it and that no matter what, everything would be ok. I would be calm, and I always knew that when I didn't know what was going to happen, that God would be sure that everything was ok in the end. And that's always how I've gotten through things. But now, I don't live twenty minutes from a beach, I can't jump in my car and drive to the ocean and be home within the hour.

So there I was sitting, crying, unable to calm myself, and all the time wishing there was a place I could drive to in order to calm myself.

And then it hit me, and just like that, I was driving. I was driving, crying, blasting my music, and heading to the only place that would comfort me, that would always welcome me and would show me that everything would be ok.

Bement Camp and Conference Center closed two summers ago because the Episcopal Diocese of Central Mass. could no longer maintain it. When I was young, I was a devoted camper to the place, spending a week each summer for ten years singing and boating and swimming and enjoying life when it was simple.

When I got older, I accomplished my dream of becoming a counselor there. I spent two amazing summers working there. I met some of my closest friends there, and actually created a family that I can never forget. That camp was my home, I was safe there, safe  from sadness, safe from death.

In 2004 the camp went through a rough patch with new management after the director died, and by 2005 the place wasn't what it once was. I realized it was my time to move on, and I said goodbye to my home. The first night away from the camp I cried myself to sleep. And the worst part is, I never went back. I never went back, until it was too late.

But, for whatever reason, maybe it was God pushing me, in my time of pain, Bement Camp was the only place I wanted to be. And so I drove there.

When I arrived it was like nothing had changed. The boats were still docked on the beach. The life jackets were still hung. The grass was mowed, the flowers were in bloom, and there was not a soul in sight. I found a bench by Jones pond and I decided to sit there. As I approached this bench, I noticed an inscription on it:

All shall be well

And all shall be well

And all manner of things

Shall be well

- Julian of Norwich

I sat on the bench, and cried. I cried more than I've ever cried in my entire life. I cursed God for taking my dog from me, begged him to save her, tried to bargain, told him I'd start going to church more. Anything to sooth my pain, to show me that everything will be alright.

And from across the pond, a dragonfly flew, and landed on my knee. I smiled, gently stroked its wings, and smiled. Everything would be ok. Raisin would be ok.

When Mark died, the camp's director, we lived on a philosophy of dragonflies. I forget who told me originally, but whenever you come across a dragonfly, it means that someone you loved who has passed is happy and watching over you. A dragonfly is a sign that after death, everything is ok, and that those who are still on earth, can go on and live our lives, knowing that our loved ones are ok.

Having that dragonfly sit on my knee was a reassurance not initially from God, but from Mark, telling me  that he would take care of my little girl for me. 

And then there was silence. 

The dragonfly caught a gust of wind and continued his flight. I took a photo of the bench and of the pond, and got back in my car and drove home. I knew that no matter what, my dog would be in heaven soon, and she would be the most spoiled dog there.

Raisin is set to be put to sleep on Wednesday. I haven't decided if I want to go or not. Work may be easier for me. Right now, we're all in limbo. My tears come in waves, mostly because I see her suffering, I want so bad to help her, to make everything better, but I can't. 

But every time I start to cry, I remind myself that she will be ok, and that she has a place in heaven all set for her. She'll meet my pekinese, she'll meet my relatives, she'll meet other dogs.

And every time I see a dragonfly, I'll think of her, and of how happy she is, and how she will always be with me.