To the Moon and Back to Me: What I Learned from Four Running Feet

Dear Reader,

When I had the opportunity to visit the island of Crete, I met a gentleman who shared what would become the foundation to my belief about life. No moment is coincidence. No person crosses our path unplanned. With his finger pointing to the sky, this gentleman spoke, “From somewhere up there you were meant to be here today.”

If you are reading To the Moon and Back to Me, What I Learned from Four Running Feet, then I was given the honor of writing what you were meant to hear.

There are certain things that are Universal no matter the language, the culture, or where you live. Loss and the grieving process share a commonality: in pain and in promise. Loss doesn’t have to be death in the sense of a loved one—two legged or four. Loss is being separated from the safe haven you knew. Marriage, friendship, a job, your home: whatever you loved, needed, or associated with as part of your identity is now absent from your life.

And it’s now giving you the opportunity to transform.

Yes, this is a story about a dog, and it is more. It is a journey—an up-and-down movement through life, like the mantras I recite when I run, repeated until they sink in to the rhythm of each step—a journey through the grieving process. And it is a reminder when a loved one leaves Earth, it is never good-bye. It is a story of purpose, of why my path intersected with Roo; if I had not known Roo, I never would have found me. And it is a message about the gift of life and how even in the most painful of times, it is the most beautiful. Instead of wondering why we encountered a painful episode, we can make the fact that it happened matter. It is a story about the ability to heal.

A soul fulfilling its purpose inhabits a body that can be covered in fur or in human form. Grieving and finding trust in life and in ourselves is a path we all travel. It knows no discrimination if the one we love—and let go—is a four- or two-legged being, if we are grieving the loss of a job or a home that felt secure, or if we are grieving the loss of who we have been.

Life brings moments we wish wouldn’t, or never had to, take place. When we find purpose in each one, we find faith. We find the ability to bravely and gracefully move through life, through every up and down we are certain to experience.

And if we embrace the purpose, we know unconditional love.

We often wait for a miracle or an extraordinary event, not realizing that we are being given more than the ordinary in the simplicity of each day. A person facing loss starts to see beauty where their eyes and their heart were clouded by a to-do list or by a sense tomorrow is always guaranteed. When their perspective shifts, what begins to matter most is what someone else still takes for granted. To watch a sunset—to really watch a sunset—is nothing short of beautiful and extraordinary.

If we choose to see.

From the guidance of a love of my life, I was meant to write this book as you were meant to read at least this opening. If only one sentence in this book touches your heart, the purpose of To the Moon and Back to Me: What I Learned from Four Running Feet will have been achieved.

From Roo and me, we wish you hope, joy, and peace,

—Christine

Prologue

September 12, 2014

You entered my dream, before you entered this world, then entered my physical life. The child I thought I’d bring into this world became you in my mind. You entered with four legs and a human definition of DOG; you were the soul as my girl, with angel wings from GOD. In my dream, I handed you to your daddy, our family of three, you as our baby girl, to make us better people, to make us complete.

The first night you entered home, you slept as if I were your dog bed, stretched across my chest. My heartbeat a soothing rhythm, the way to lull you to rest. In this room you learned home and learned who was whispering, “I am Mom, always you have my love.” In this same room you would whisper, “Mom, always you have my love…I have had enough.”

You joined my life just before I came to a fork in the road; would I take the path of least resistance, or would I choose the path of growth? You, with a spirit that saw no boundaries, nudged my fearful spirit to be brave, and your steadfast unconditional love an anchor when I exhibited wavering faith. You were my coach as I learned to run, knowing I could and would even when I thought, “I am not so sure I can.” Your excitement taught me unmeasurable joy in being “right where I am at.” Running, our physical activity to parallel learning in life; you my girl, always my teacher alongside.

As I jogged, sprinted, and some moments ran on this path of growth to find the essence of me, you were my sight when I lost my way and my tug when I needed leading. Through my depression, you never let go—you knew I would reach the other side; my wise beautiful girl, believing for both of us when my way I couldn’t find. You taught me to increase my ability to hear and see, to tune into Nature for the messages that can be received. If, on a particular run, you decided we should slow our speed, it was at the most appropriate time when I needed to be reminded that it was not the destination but the journey. If we suddenly increased our speed or immediately started to run, it was when I needed to be reminded “keep going,” “you can,” “don’t fear,” or “you are almost done.”

You continued to watch me grow toward the center of who I am meant to be. You saw my heart unfolding. You saw me gaining belief in me. You continued to pull me forward and continued to set the pace. “Time out” or “faster,” you knew the steps to take. Though neither of us enjoyed the times I had to be out of town, you knew I would come back after what I needed for my growth was found.

As our hearts beat in rhythm to our feet running the trails, you would hear my heart’s dreams, your assurance I would not fail. You, the encourager to continue what I was coming to know: that in all things good, and in all things sad, there is always faith and hope. I didn’t know consciously (my subconscious hadn’t yet found its voice) that you were agreeing to help me with two more lessons of the most ultimate kind—my ownership to keep eyes, ears, and heart open; then the gifts I would find.

Shortly before our runs were to become walks, you and I met a friend; Hawk crossed our path needing our help to lend. We gave him water, we stroked his feathers, we told him he was loved. We looked into his eyes and moved away from ourselves to selflessly honor his spirit, which desired to soar above. He crossed our path as guardian and as a premonition we did not yet see. His message and lesson: the power of setting something free.

He wasn’t our first messenger that would give us signs, nor would he be our last. Another of your gifts you gave, teaching me to watch and listen, always messages to guide our path. You whispered, “Let me go,” and a grasshopper, a turtle, a robin, a blue heron all served as your aids to help me trust what I heard you say. Moment by moment you gently helped me grow in my trust and faith.

Your ultimate gifts: incredible trust and amazing selfless love; now, as done with Hawk, I must release a piece of my heart to soar and rise above. My dear girl, you knew that I needed to experience firsthand how to see beauty through pain. Oh, what sights and sounds you hear when walking with another on Earth their final days. I am honored and humbled in what I have experienced with you, not just in these final days but in all of our years, my Roo.

I always told you “To the moon and back my love for you” and “You are my right arm.” An extension of me, certain irreparable severance if we had to part. I didn’t know until you nudged my heart to look it up today—to read the symbolism a few hours before “Go in peace,” we would say. “My right arm” is divinely symbolic of the right hand of God, and of course, dear Roo, as you and I already know, GOD = DOG.

The last night home, your sleep was you and me together on a bed, my heartbeat willing you to find comfort and rest. In that same room, you learned home, we whispered to each other, “Always, you and me” and “It will be okay—thank you for this journey filled with such beauty.” We held you as you prepared to soar high, the most precious treasure I will ever touch in my life. My hand over your heart as you set your wings and took flight. One last beat imprinted in the palm of my hand, my right.

And, my beautiful girl, we reinforce all that you strived to teach: that we will see you if we keep open our hearts to find what we seek. Your daddy and I on our walk up the drive tonight; each step is heavy with the weight of not physically seeing you. Trying, so trying, to catch our breaths as grief coursed through. And then the circling right beside us and just above. You sent guardian Hawk whispering, “Mom and Dad, I am well, thank you for your love.”

I know it isn’t good-bye. I know with us you will always be, and thank you for the other message tonight that you gave me to read. When we feel our chests ache, it is you wagging your tail—the thump a promise always beside us without fail. It read how a dog never dies but sleeps in the warmth of our hearts. So when we can’t catch our breath, it is because you, now awake, are whopping your tail very very hard.

You entered my dream before you entered this world and before you entered my life. The child I didn’t bring into the world in you I would find. Thank you, my beautiful girl, for all you gave your daddy and me; we know love in a way that wouldn’t have been possible without you who made us complete. I could not have gotten to the center of me without your guardian love, my Earth angel, now my most precious angel from above.

FAITH

An evening some year before 2005

It is night or day without light. Black and indigo blue, no vibrant colors mixed with these darkest hues. Walking slowly, ever slow; where I might be I do not know. Trees, some standing, some in a lean, some in stagnant water, no longer able to grow leaves. The bark water soaked, ready to fall away. No ripples in the water as dark as the view I face.

I am searching to find…certainly there must be some sign of life. I am alone, and for a few moments I do not fear. More watchful, trying to understand, awaiting light’s glimmer to appear. It begins to sink in what my eyes see. I begin to run, my legs gaining speed.

My lungs feel the burn, I am struggling to breathe. But it may catch up; it may grab me away from this racing to leave. I am scared, I am terrified. Where is there safety I can find? Up ahead, a building, perhaps someone will rescue me. Closer, as if it is the finish line, “Help me make it,” my tearful plea. Silence still, but a wall to embrace my back; against it, sliding to the ground, I collapse.

The kind of sobbing that shudders the body pours from the depths of my soul. I cannot shake the panic that has taken control. No moon, nor sunlight, no sign of any life. Into the eyes of the dying I stared, death striving to catch me in its snare.

As breath leaves, my chest is held in a tighter squeeze. “But I do not want this,” I call out from somewhere deep. No one to respond; silence greets the words I cry. Or maybe they weren’t said aloud, my voice skilled at staying buried inside. I must run, I must run far away. Right where I am, I cannot stay.

I blink, I gasp for air. My location, I am uncertain where. A wall to my right, to my left, someone lies next to my side. “Where am I now?” I try to focus my eyes. My bedroom, my husband, familiar surroundings. The relief it was not reality but just a dream. Or was it a warning if I did not heed?

My soul dying, my heart starting to decay. My life on a course to darkness. And I begin to run, searching for change.

September 20, 2014

“Don’t micromanage the soul,” was once said to me. Words meant to encourage the stopping of analyses. So much easier to slice, dice, turn, and find the explanation why—head space versus heart space is going on inside.

I reflect on moments that take place as we walk our life path, those times that are the memories that linger and last. Those memories we refer back to, that stand out, that time does not erase. Perhaps those are the moments we shift from head space. In those moments etched, a cast, a mold that does not fade. I believe those are the moments our hearts are opening, our souls awake.

Some memories, imprinted never to leave, come back as a knock to revisit, heal, then move forward with ease. Other memories we make a choice to immediately embrace, allowing readiness for the new, for a change. We may not be aware of how powerful this accumulation of memories will become and how each will define the world we see. Nor how certain memories will become more significant in their meaning. But the soul knows the gift of each memory we tuck away, and it awaits the courage our heart will find to grow in love, hope, and faith.

A memory etched, a treasured moment I hold; no words to explain, no micromanagement of the soul. Our souls, with the gift of our bodies to carry our hearts, we ran, our feet in harmony to the morning start. There, in the trees, the most beautiful eyes watched us, talked with us, then graced above us both with its glorious wings; the majestic owl in flight over us, a magical time shared together, us three. Together, in our final walk of your life, often that memory came to mind.

Today, the bike ride extended to paths we shared as we ran. I ask you to send either Hawk or Owl so that I know we are still on the trail hand-in-hand. At first, it was the wings gliding to the tree and when I asked it to pose for a picture, those beautiful eyes again looked at me. The owl, in the same spot where the three of us met, as my angel whispered, “I did as you asked.” Always to the moon and back, never apart. For Earth and Heaven do not separate what is joined as one in our hearts.

I reflect on moments that take place as we walk our life path, those times that are the memories that linger and last. Those memories we refer back to, that stand out, that time does not erase—today, a moment when feeling my heart far greater than any head space. In this moment etched, a cast, a mold that will never fade; my heart so bare yet still open, my soul gaining strength not to break. Perhaps it is in those shifting moments our souls further unite; and we grow into oneness from darkness to radiant light.