Love is the Lesson
A Story of Presence, Devotion, and the Unexpected
THURSDAY
A jump off the bed. That’s all it took.
A split second where my elderly dog decided to jump down from the bed as I was falling asleep, and I didn’t have time to stop her or redirect her to the ramp she has just for this purpose.
Moxie cried out in pain, her legs collapsed beneath her. When I got to her feet, she was holding up her right back foot, crying and going lame whenever she tried to press down on it.
I stayed up with her all night, doing some energy healing and calling on AA Rafael, my guides, and God. Nothing seemed to be working—1am turned to 2am, then 3am as I kept a watchful eye, praying it was just a sprain and she could get some sleep before I called the vet first-thing in the morning. But at 4am, she got up and hobbled into the hallway where she fell again, and I sat there with her… utterly helpless.
Thinking she had to go to the bathroom, I finally managed to get her on one of her dog beds and drag the bed down the stairs like a slide with her on it. We stayed downstairs the rest of the morning. I slept maybe an hour or two at the most—on high-alert every time she so much as sat up (which was often).
Murphy’s Law was in full effect this morning. Maybe Mercury Retrograde has played some part as well. I usually thrive under Mercury Retrogrades, having been born under one and with a strong Mercury in Virgo (9th house) placement. But this Mercury Retrograde is opposite to my natal, and I’ve been feeling its full effects.
Including delayed travel plans. Like I said…
Murphy’s Law.
Moxie had a 10:20 vet appointment. Since she’s 60 pounds of squiggle and I’m unable to carry her, the plan was to borrow my mom’s van and back it up to the low deck so I could drag Moxie on her bed right into the rear of the van.
And it worked. That part of the plan worked seamlessly.
What we didn’t account for was the melted snow from high temps earlier in the week and now the rain making the backyard a veritable swampland. The wheels started spinning and the yard started…mudding.
And I was stuck.
10:10am. New plan. The vet is thankfully a few minutes away.
Calling on my angels and mustering up all the strength I had, I heaved Moxie into my arms and crossed the backyard to my car. I sped to the vet’s office, where they helped her on a gurney to bring her inside…
And that’s when I lost it.
Seeing her strapped down like that—in pain, confused, and helpless—I fought and failed to keep my composure. You’re an animals whole world, and she’s been the biggest part of mine—my furbaby, my angel girl.
Yeah. There was no way I was going to keep it together.
She has a torn ACL (known as a Cranial Cruciate Ligament injury in dogs) in her back leg, with arthritis flaring in her other. They gave her some pain medicine and an anti-inflammatory, assuring me that with proper rest, surgery likely wouldn’t be needed.
I cried again, but this time from relief.
Bringing her back inside the house was even harder. After crying for hours (honestly, her and me both), she was finally able to rest a little more peacefully, and I got about an hour of sleep myself.
But not before sending an email to our holistic vet, who immediately set us up for an appointment on Saturday. Add this to the ever-growing list of things (and people) to be grateful for…
FRIDAY
Thanks to pain meds for her and crashing from the stress and adrenaline for me, Moxie and I somehow got through the night, and the worst seems to be behind us.
I slept on a makeshift bed of couch cushions and bedding (which my cat has now claimed as his own, of course), that is somehow not entirely uncomfortable, Moxie situated on her most orthopedic-friendly dog bed at my head.
She woke up a few times during the night to go out, and I helped her by dragging her bed to the back door and holding her hind quarters up using a towel for a sling.
In the morning, she hobbled on her own a few feet to the water dish, and though she’s always supported by the sling when she’s walking outside, she tried touching her injured leg to the ground—a positive, promising sign.
I spent the day in careful observance—something that will be repeated over the next several weeks. I’ve canceled or rescheduled everything I can, my life now dedicated to her care and recovery.
And I wouldn’t want for anything less.
Anyone who has ever loved an animal knows they’re so much more than animals. They’re tender souls in little bodies—angels of unconditional love—and this girl has healed me time and time again.
Without question, I would be here to do the same for her.
SATURDAY
We took her to her holistic vet an hour and a half away Saturday morning. Moxie has been seeing this vet since the summer for acupuncture and other therapies—a recommendation from my friends at my local metaphysical shop—and this small practice has been nothing short of a blessing, adding to Moxie’s health and overall well-being.
She had her first prolozone injection to help stabilize the knees, her first laser therapy session, and we came home armed with additional supplements to help with the inflammation and pain management. Adding to the energy healing sessions a friend is performing, the red light therapy mat I’d bought for myself that’s now useful for her, and the homeopathy remedies on-hand, Moxie’s on track to nicely recover.
When we got home, she even was feeling well enough to walk around the yard, do her business, and then practically bolt to the house so that I had to keep up with her!
I’m still dragging her bed from the living room to the kitchen when she has to go out—and also when I’m cooking because her beagle gets activated and she has to investigate wherever food is involved. So now I make the “chuga-chuga-choo-choo” sound (this is my particular brand of crazy) and position her so she can watch me.
It will be 24/7 watch and care for her. I can’t—I won’t—leave her alone. But the pain is being managed, I have healing tools and resources in our pocket, and there’s a ton of support surrounding us so that I can care for her without neglecting myself, my health, or my work in the process.
The gratitude is immeasurable.
But I honestly didn’t feel grateful at first. I felt frustrated, even angry.
Hearing her cry in pain was devastating, and those first 48 hours of feeling helpless was excruciating. I kept calling on my angels and guides—kept calling on God—but I didn’t know if any of it was working.
I even wondered if my belief and faith were enough.
In those moments on the floor—stroking her head, whispering that I loved her, envisioning white and green healing light surrounding her—I didn’t feel so spiritually connected. I felt very human.
And I almost chided myself for it, until I felt God come in later that evening when all was quiet and she was calmed and relieved from the pain thanks to her medicine.
This was the point.
I’ve always said that we’re still human, and I never want to bypass or avoid that for my spirituality because that’s not spiritual at all. Spirituality is the lived experience, and I never saw that so clearly as this week.
Sometimes, especially when someone you love is in pain, spiritual connection can fall silent, feel slow, or even be absent. But it doesn’t mean your faith or connection to GodSource and all that is isn’t real. It just means the moment is asking you to exist fully in the rawness—in the real experience versus the idea of what you think faith and spiritual connection should look like.
I came to understand that feeling helpless and frustrated, but holding faith and being present fully in my love and devotion to her, was actually spiritual practice in disguise.
I didn’t always understand this. There was a time in the beginning of my ascension journey when I let my spiritual ego get the better of me. My parents’ dog had passed away, and I had trouble holding space for their grief because nothing ever dies, right? He was at peace, he’d always be with them in spirit. Couldn’t they see that?
It’s so gross when I think about that now, and I learned quickly that I never want to forsake my humanity for spiritual understanding. When my own soul dog, Riley, passed away a few years later in 2020, I had a healthier connection to my spiritual self—being a psychic medium, I could know what I know and experience what I experience and still allow myself to grieve the physical loss and all that comes with it.
This was grace. And I had to experience it for myself so I could learn to offer it to others.
I’ve lost a lot of loved ones since then. My grandmother a year after Riley, one of my first childhood friends this past summer, and a dear family friend at Christmas. I’ve lost a lot of loved ones—animals and people alike—throughout the whole of my life. I know they’re not really gone. It’s not just a comforting saying but something I innately believe and have always intrinsically known. Throughout the course of my journey, as my spiritual life has expanded, I’ve learned to ground that knowing so I can carry compassion and hold space for others.
And myself.
Seasons of struggle don’t replace seasons of joy. Multiple realities co-exist, more than one emotion can be felt. We can experience the sting of grief with the joy of having loved, grief being love with nowhere to go.
I feel helpless and frustrated when those I love are in pain. Spirituality doesn’t demand the absence of negative emotion, doesn’t require perfection. It doesn’t mean you’re wrong or at fault for what you feel. True spirituality is experienced in the most ordinary acts and the full expression of self. When you’re attuned to suffering, it creates compassion, and holding grace for that and space for each other can itself be sacred work.
As I was falling asleep, Moxie at my head the way she likes to be, I realized that I was already embodying the healing I was frantically praying for. Sitting with her, comforting her, staying beside her through the night kept her calm, made her feel safe and protected.
It made her feel loved.
And there’s nothing more spiritual than that.
Moxie’s road to recovery will be long, but she’ll get there. And I’ll be here—present, devoted, and learning from the experience, too.
Love is the lesson. Love is the prayer.
Love is always the answer.
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