Month: November 2017

A woman’s mid life transformational journey from the bubble of America to the jungles of Costa Rica

JUNGLE UP & BREATHE

 Prologue

“Good morning Costa Rica”, Peter and I bellow out in unison as my three huskies and one small dog with dreadlocks and an under bite, initiate the day with their loud, somewhat mystical howl. At the first signs of dawn, the neighborhood rooster triggers the howler monkeys that hang outside my bedroom window, they call out to wake the dead. One would think they are the size of a gorilla and actually they are the size of a large cat. The monkeys are the instigators that trigger the bewildering good morning howl of my canine quartet. This chain of events happens most mornings, as I greet the new day with anticipation.

Long gone is the time I awake and take for granted the luxury of electricity and water. I now appreciate the simplicities of a life once known. I am living in a solar powered eco home I built where the jungle meets the ocean. I awake to the tropical sounds and share my ocean view with the many geckos and butterflies that dwell upon my large triangular glass window that stands in grandeur overlooking the jungle and ocean.

Here I am 4000 miles from my “comfort bubble”, and still in wonder of how I managed to get here. My son, Ben says to me, “Mom, you have had the best mid-life crisis out of all my friend’s moms”. I say “lets just call it a mid life transformation”. Yes and quite the transformation it has been. My story is about the journey a woman can take when she is discontented with the comforts of life. One day she wakes up, finds herself midway through life, has what most people want and yet she lacks purpose & fulfillment.

It was this lack of purpose, fulfillment and discontentment in the comforts of life that lead me on this journey and why I am living a life where I must “jungle up”. I have coined the term “jungle up” with lack of another word that describes what I have had to do survive here. Much like the term “cowboy up” – when things are getting tough and you have to get back up – dust yourself off and keep trying. I chose to “jungle up”, to confront the jungle within and the jungle, which surrounds my new existence. I chose to “jungle up” rather than drown in the challenges presented when one chooses to take such a ride. The ride from the comfort bubble of America to the jungles of Costa Rica.

My story is about this journey, a ride I boarded into the unknown. I bought the ticket and there was no getting off. I remember the time I took my daughter, Carly to Disney Land. Where there is this charming looking train. I thought this sweet little train would be enjoyable for us, a step above the merry-go-round in the excitement factor. Well, that cute little train for me was the ride from hell, too much adrenaline pumping for my liking. My ride has been somewhat like that little train, with illusion, excitement, and finally peace when it chugs along level ground. My story will take you through rivers, mountains, meadows & valleys of many emotions that surface when one chooses transformation over stagnation. When one chooses to thrive on this journey we call life rather than to simply survive.

My Dog Died

Last month my dog died. Or shall I say, “passed away”, “his spirit moved on” or “he left us”. It has always been a puzzle to me what is the proper term to say when someone or a beloved pet dies.   It seems so cold to say someone or something “died.” But isn’t that what did happen? The life gone signifies death, so yes, my dog died.

It was Moondog my big brown and white husky that died. He was a handsome dog with one blue and one brown eye. It was when he was laying on his side in pain that his one blue eye gave me a blank stare that pierced my heart. His stare was begging me to let him go, he wanted to die.

It is a mystery what actually happened that caused Mooddog to loose movement in his back legs. The five of us, his sister Gidget a white husky, uncle Yogi a black husky and little Lucy Lou, my sweet Chihuahua and myself all walked, as we usually do, down the beach to the Organic Market. I bought my weekly coconut water, fruits and vegetables. The dogs roamed in and out of the baskets of produce that lie upon the mats that are strewn upon the ground. Market day is a time when I remember where I really am, where the jungle meets the ocean and where life is simple and sweet.

It was time to walk back home along the beautiful white sand beach.  The other three dogs ran up to me and galloped down the beach. Moondog,  the leader of the pack,  could barely move and labored to get home.  This  was very concerning and strange. Moondog  usually would  run like a freight train towards his sister wrestling her to the ground or running full force towards another dog on the beach just to say hello. Of course the size of him and the rate at which he would greet the other dogs most often would scare the owners and the dog.   A happy day is when both owner and dog want to play and then Moondog is in his glory playing chase along the beach and thundering into the waves. This day there was no playing on the way home, no thundering into the waves, and had no interest licking Gidgets ears clean as he did every day. Something I always considered endearing yet gross! Moondog had all he could do to walk the half of kilometer home.

I called the Vet and told her his symptoms; she advised we give him prednisone. After three days of this he was able to move about very slowly, very slowly and somehow in the middle of the night he climbed the stairs to my room. I was surprised at this and yet thrilled he was able to climb the stairs. To no avail when he attempted to go down the stairs he fell down those darn stairs and never again was able to walk.

The next two weeks were painfully exhausting both physically, emotionally and mentally for me. With all attempts to figure out what was going on, taking blood tests and Xrays there was just no answer as to why this 80 kilo dog could not move. Each day I had to lift him off his urine soaked towels with the help of a friend who thankfully was staying at the house. Lifting Moondog would initiate a heartbreaking howl of pain as I lay him down on a freshly laundered towel and yoga mat. He was on prednisone, painkillers and intravenous fluids. I did everything I could to prevent bedsores and keep him nourished and hydrated. I made him chicken soup, learned how to put in an IV needle and picked up and heaved his heavy body 6 times or more a day. The great thing about living in an ole house on the beach where there are no windows, doors or even a wall on the beach side is I could give Moondog a bath right there is the living room and it didn’t matter. With all the love I could muster up and all the efforts it just wasn’t enough it was time for him to go.

His one blue eye said it all, it was blank and it pierced my heart. At this point he was urinating thick viscous blood, another tell tale sign that the end was near. I called the vet to come and euthanize him. Gidget and Yogi were lying in the background while the vet injected the deathly serum. His eye was fixed on mine as I held his paw with one hand and his heart with the other. His eye rolled back and closed as I felt his heart just stop. My Moondog, my once precious little puppy with floppy ears and my best friend was dead.

I was alone with my lifeless Moondog in this big ole house for 2 hours. As I waited for the men that worked on the property to dig the hole for his grave, I covered his body with a sheet and cried. Gidget and Yogi were now off in secret corners of the house and had no interest in coming to the living room. I hugged each of them burying my face in their fur and crying even more. The hole was dug and the two workers and myself lugged Moondog in a sheet over the river in front of the house to the gravesite. It was me, just me and the two workers, I barely knew, to bury my beloved pet. I felt so very alone.  I gathered all my strength and shoveled the dirt over his body, I shoveled and I cried, I cried until there were no more tears and the grave was filled.

So yes my dog died. His spirit left us, he kicked the bucket or went onto greener pastures.   However you want to say it, when life is gone out of a body that life, as we know it died. I read somewhere in the “holy scriptures,”  that the body is a cage that houses our souls and when it is gone our souls are set free, liberated from the pain and suffering and from the bondage of earthly desires. Grieve as we will, cry the tears and let go as we should knowing that it’s all-divine and its all ok.

This was the death of my dog, and to this day I am void of having to face the death of a human loved one. I don’t know how I will feel and I cant even pretend to know.   My hope is that I will be graced with the divine guidance to to understand and to accept what will be.

In memory of Moondog, I share with you two poems–

MOONDOGGIE
Sloppy kisses is what you gave 
Loving to gallop into the wave
Gidget’s ears clean as a whistle
Brotherly love since you were little
The dogs on the beach will miss the scare
By my side you were always there
In my heart you will remain
As I walk the beach
I imagine you again

 

NEVER FORGOTTON
As death is a part of life, so is Joy
Let this fill our hearts forever more
Always missed and never forgotten
Your spirit if free and your body rotten
Yesterday a time of grievance for my dog is gone
I release the sadness at the break of a new dawn
Today I rejoice in the glory of a new day
I have two huskies and a Chihuahua that want to play

 Aum-en