Visitations
Connecting to my dog in spirit, questioning the signs, and accepting love without all of the answers
I don’t know why it was this morning, and I don’t know why I always question her timing. But that’s how it is when my dog in spirit visits me.
I remember Bella in the last few years of her life—how she moved between me and my ex-husband’s home with the kids, setting herself up in a different spot each time. Sometimes she followed my youngest, often she went straight to my room. I saw pictures of her curled up beside Mike on the sofa, and for a long time, I wasn’t sure who she preferred.
But then, one day, it clicked. My son was having a hard week, and Bella was lying under his bed. She was an emotional genius. She always went where she was needed.
So why yesterday morning? I was lying in bed as the sun was coming up, caught somewhere between a dream and waking, watching the light move across the room. And then I became aware of Bella.
First, her scent—that subtle, oatmeal-y smell of her coat. Then the weight of her body pressing into mine, the nuzzle of her nose against my neck, the rough part of her tongue brushing my ear. My hands reached, instinctively, for the softness of her downy undercoat, her rabbit-like ears, her scratchy paws. I could feel her. Her whole essence.
I remembered when she would be fresh from the groomer and I would let her up on the bed, how she relished every minute of that. Or maybe she was remembering, and those were her thoughts passing through my mind.
To be close, loved, completely surrounded. That was her wish, always. Just to be in the presence of her innocent and unconditional love I felt lighter, somehow pure.
I don’t know why she came to lay on top of me yesterday morning, and I don’t know why I questioned it. But I did. And she said there would be confirmation in my daily word puzzles.
Well, she wasn’t kidding.
When I opened the New York Times games app as I often start my day, I started with the Strands puzzle, where all the words were different forms of blockages.
Blockage. That word alone immediately brought Bella to mind—she had two surgeries in her lifetime to remove objects she had swallowed. First, a dog toy. Later, a sock. She had barely survived both, but still, I wondered: Is that really the sign?
Then I moved on to the Connections puzzle, my favorite. The first word that jumped out at me? Doodle. And as I completed the puzzle, I saw the final category: words that start with golden.Golden doodle. Bella.
“Good job, girl,” I thought. “I got it. No more questioning you.”
And then I walked downstairs.
The bright red male cardinal was back in the tree. Rachel tried snapped a picture, but he flitted away quickly.
Then we noticed a female cardinal above us—a beautiful, rusty brown. She sat there, looking between me and Rachel, back and forth, back and forth. At first, I didn’t realize it was another sign. I was still easing into my day. But then a voice came into my mind, clear as anything:
“from me.”
And I thought about how good Bella is at finding signs, how on the day she passed away, Rachel and I didn’t know she was sick yet, so we took our time walking through a cemetery, watching two herons fly across the lake, photographing them. We had no idea.
And then we came home, and Bella collapsed.
Knowing instantly—I picked up her 70-pound body, adrenaline kicking in, rushed her to the car. As we turned on the vehicle, Rachel asked, Do you think this is it? The radio flicked on mid-song, right at the chorus playing:
“It’s the final countdown.”
We looked at each other and smiled through our tears.
At the emergency clinic, they took her to the back. They told us her abdomen was full of blood from a tumor that had burst—there was no fixing this. We made the decision to let her go.
And when they led us into the room where people say goodbye to their dogs, there, hanging on the wall, was a painting of a heron.
Just like the ones we had seen that morning.
And still, after all these moments, all these signs, I found myself questioning her again.
But maybe that’s what she was showing me—one last time, one more way.
I should just accept it.
Not question why she follows me, why she has chosen my room to sleep in, why she appears in my bed to snuggle me on a morning when I can’t see the need for it myself.
I should just accept her love.
I should just accept love—without needing a reason, without analyzing the why or the how. Just to see the innocence in someone reaching out. To receive it.
To believe, without hesitation, that I deserve it.
With love,
Sheryl
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