death

Birthdays. Life. Death. And Tractors.

Posted by Barbara Techel

tractor 1200It’s not everyday that you see tractors outside of a funeral home. But then again you likely never met my Uncle Dale. He loved tractors!

Though my heart felt heavy riding to the funeral home early last evening, coming upon the funeral home to see my uncle’s pride and joy sitting outside, framing the funeral home, made me smile.  Of course, I thought. His tractors would be here. My heart lightened.

Funerals and death can sure make you stop and think about what is truly important in life. Not that I don’t appreciate life, because I really do. But once again, death, for me, magnifies joy and all the blessings that I have.

My uncle was 71 years old. Died suddenly of a stroke. Very unexpected. As we listened to the sermon many thoughts flashed through my mind. I will celebrate my 50th birthday tomorrow. My uncle was 21 years older than me. My dear friend, Cassy, now a big part of my life, is 29.  We, too, are 21 years apart. Someday she and I will trade places in age. My mom and I also 21 years apart. It struck me to think I am only 21 years from the age of my uncle- now gone.  My uncle the same age as my mom and dad. It could have been me standing there saying goodbye.

While we never know when our time is to leave this earth, it was another reality check of how fast these years go. I recalled fond memories of staying overnight at my cousins, remembering how they would wait in anticipation for their dad to get home on a Friday night. For 31 years he was a truck driver, working really hard and providing for his family so my aunt Kathy could stay home and raise their three children.

Today on my Uncle Jim’s Facebook page he said this of Dale, “He worked hard all his life, took pride in his work, and loved his family dearly. He touched many lives. He will be missed by family and friends alike.” It is so true.  It is what I think of too when I think of him and how I will remember him. He was truly one of the hardest working men I’ve ever known.

I also really admired the marriage between Dale and my aunt Kathy. They sure did have their share of tough times. But they made it. They loved each other. Two peas in a pod. They are a wonderful reminder of all I want to continue in my marriage with John.

Today as I continue to celebrate my birthday week I will also celebrate my uncle’s life. He was a gentle giant, with a wonderful smile, and a love for his wife and family that makes me so proud to say he was my uncle.

As the funeral came to an end one last song was played…Roll on 18 Wheeler by Alabama.  I, along with many others, smiled big through tears. Such a fitting end to a wonderful man. Rest in peace uncle Dale.

Reflecting on a Year Since Frankie Died- A Celebration of her Life

Posted by Barbara Techel

frankie photo from kristiI never really said goodbye.

No goodbye because I continue to feel the love of Frankie in my heart.

No goodbye because I made the conscious choice before she died to deeply inhale the smell of her, embrace the feel of her warm, soft body, and sit with the memories of the joy and love she gave me.

No goodbye because I want every June 21st to be a celebration of Frankie’s life and all those she touched.

I honestly don’t know if I believe in the rainbow bridge. That is hard for me to share, as I realize many do. It’s not my intent to dishonor what is right for others. I understand it’s a way for many in dealing with, and moving through, their own loss. I respect that.

I believe Frankie and I are still together–she is just in a place I can’t see. But I trust she is where she needs to be–wherever that is. So I’m not sure she is waiting on the other side of a bridge.

I’m also not sure if she is really some “place”, but rather it feels as if she is  this illumination of divine light and love that makes my heart smile when I think of her. The love and light seems to come and go at just the right time when I need it.

To me, she is just here in a different way. A lighter way. A deeper way, and in many ways, a more meaningful way.

Reflecting on other pets I’ve lost, they were all hard. But Frankie’s passing was the most difficult to date I’ve experienced.

The beauty of it though?

How I’ve grown deeper in my spirituality once again, and in my own way of dealing with a profound loss.

I allowed the grief to swallow me at times. I swam in it, and almost felt as if I’d drown, feeling deeply every inch of the pain of losing her. I didn’t try to run from how bad my heart hurt. At times, it was so intense I honestly didn’t think I’d move through it. But I called upon my faith more than any other time that I can recall. I reminded myself to believe I’d find my way back to happy again.

I did. This, to me, is honoring the ultimate blessing that Frankie truly was to me– to many.

When I now feel joy, I feel it even more magnified for having moved through something I thought would crush my heart into tiny pieces.

I see now that my purpose grew even more defined. Caring for a dog that would become paralyzed was not a choice I would have made for my life. But then wanting to someday love another little one with special needs was something my soul yearned for as I moved through the years with Frankie.

The gift of Frankie, who opened my eyes to something I may never have otherwise seen.

I feel in a good place these days with Frankie at peace in a place that makes her happy. It’s no longer about her helping me, but a place that she can simply be. A place in my heart that rests easy in knowing we will always be connected in our own, unique way. A knowing that I can go on, and I am going on. That I will love again, and am loving again.

It took work for me to get here. Real work of accepting my process. Real work of allowing sadness to seep into every inch of my being. Real work of trusting I’d find joy again… even though Frankie’s physical presence is no longer here to remind me of how far I’ve come.

Reflecting back, I’d do every bit of life with Frankie all over again knowing my heart would shatter like nothing I’ve felt before.

And now… being fully present to this moment, here and now, I give my deepest gratitude for the love of Frankie who brought me to this time of now loving and caring for little Joie.

No goodbyes… only a journey that continues in just the way it is meant to be.

I. am. Blessed.

**The Life and Legacy of Frankie lives on with National Walk ‘N Roll Dog Day.  Join us on Facebook to continue to spread the positive message that dogs in wheelchair live quality lives if given a chance.

Dear Frankie. Are You In There?

Posted by Barbara Techel

Dear Frankie…

Is that you in there? As I drove home from the vet office, your beautiful box beside me, the tears came once again.

The minute I walked into the house, I opened the box to find your cremains wrapped in burgundy tissue.  I slowly unwrapped the tissue, knowing full well what lay beneath, but wanting more than anything for it to really be you- to be able to hold your sweet, soft body once again and kiss the side of your snout a thousand times.

It felt odd to come to the plastic bag holding what is now left of you. Is this all that is really left of you? It’s a part of you, this I realize, and this box containing you shall be sacred to me. But I realized, too, that this is not you.

You are all around me and in me… embedded forever in my heart. I read something today that said, “Footprints of love.”  That is you, dear Frankie…. that is you.  Oh, the footprints of love you have left behind.

I told a friend in an email that though there are times I can’t bear not having you here,  I would not trade having had  you here just becuase I knew the loss someday would be so hard to go through.  I’ve realized deeply in the past two weeks that my ultimate pride and joy was caring for you each and everyday.  I loved sharing you with all the children we met, too, and sharing your story in every way possible that I could, but when it comes down to the core of what I loved most about you– it was taking care of you and helping you live the best quality life that you could —and just being with you in the simple little moments of life. I was truly in my most happy state of joy just being there for you and being with you.

Last week Saturday a friend at the Farmer’s Market said to me, “Frankie completed you.” She is right– you so completed me.  Not only did you complete me, but you helped to complete me- to help me grow into the woman I am today. I knew there would be a day when you saw I was strong enough for you to move on, and though I never wanted that day to come, my heart smiles because you did all this for me… and so much more.

I’ve thought a lot about the day I was told you had only a 10-30% chance of walking after rupturing your disk. I think about if I had let fear paralyze me, fear that I couldn’t take care of a handicapped dog, fear that my life would change, and angry that this was happening to me. I just can’t imagine not having had the last almost thirteen years with you, with the last almost seven being some of the most powerful and life changing moments I’ve ever experienced.

So dear Frankie, though your cremains lie still in the small sacred space of the beautiful brown box, your life and all it was, continues to be full of life all around me.

Not to hurt our humble brethren is our first duty to them, but to stop there is not enough. We have a higher mission—to be of service to them wherever they require us.  ~Saint Francis of Assisi