What The Puppies Knew...

I met Cyndi holding puppies. The mother of the litter was attentive to her small family and tilted her head territorially as we held her babies, but we earned her trust. The litter was soft and dreamy and it was comforting to visit them.  Eastwood Ranch Foundation is an incredible facility that rescues dogs and cats from kill shelters from across the state. Miley, the mother of the litter, had been retrieved from a Lancaster kill shelter only days before her fourth of July delivery. This litter was a miracle. I joked with the employees about getting my 'puppy dopamine' rush and Cyndi laughed. While playing with the puppies, the conversation flowed easily so we swapped numbers for a puppy reunion in the future. 

Suki (white) & Poppy

My original plan was to foster an older dog. I had traveled to the  east coast when my 16 year old dog died. I rescued Sitka from  Shelter Hope in 2013. She was an adorable mixed Karin terrier resembling Toto in the Wizard of Oz. She was an easy going, sweet little dog. For the first five years of her life, she lived on the streets of Thousand Oaks with an unhoused family and she came to our home fully trained. It was obvious she had been very loved by her previous owners. She was a good girl. 

In 2025, her health began to decline at a rapid rate and she became partially blind and deaf. We began carrying her everywhere and eventually I became one of those ridiculous women pushing a dog in a stroller. She was worth the humiliation. She had a good quality of  life and  was an adorable geriatric dog!

I knew I’d be traveling for my niece’s wedding in New York so I focused on getting her in ship shape before we left. Feeling confident that we had done all that we could, we left for the trip but Sitka lost control of her back legs on the third day. This was disastrous.

A friend of mine told me that dogs sometimes wait for the owner to leave to die. 

Returning to an empty house was depressing and it triggered my grief for Hayden. To survive the loss of a child, you maintain and manage your days. I stay keenly aware of emotional storms that could possibly be brewing in the background. Not to be dramatic, but I delicately walk through an emotional mine field every day because the smallest thing can set off an emotional cascade. For example: I have a neighbor who loves to whistle. Hayden was a whistler, and hearing this can send me running back inside the house. It’s that simple; yet complex. Honestly, it is tedious to avoid triggers all day and being on high alert is a survival technique I have mastered. 

An out of order death goes against human nature.

Losing a child is a missing puzzle piece in a parent’s life and, if you’re not careful, the hole in your heart will swallow you up. As a Certified Grief Educator (through the amazing David Kessler), I learned the hard way that society doesn’t know what to do with the bereaved. In general, Americans thrive on the unrelenting pursuit of ‘the American Dream’: a great job, good home and fancy travel to post about. Americans don't ‘do’ grief. It goes against the grain of the success mentality embedded into the tapestry of our country. There is no time for grief.

When someone passes, employees are allowed a standard three days to attend the funeral, but loving support is most necessary six months after, when the shock begins to fade and the harsh reality of the new life ahead of you comes crashing in. This is an extremely lonely time. 

A year after Hayden passed, I had an “Eat, Pray, Love" experience on a yoga retreat in Bali. One afternoon in the city of Ubud, we were stuck in horrible traffic when the driver announced with a big sigh that we would be sitting there for quite some time. Realizing the resort was a short mile away, another woman and I spontaneously decided to walk and hopped out of the van. This was exciting for me because I hadn’t had the opportunity to stroll through the bustling city. The streets were filled with hundreds of villagers, playing instruments and chanting while others lifted fabric draped containers over their heads. The villagers kindly invited me into the parade which turned out to be a national holiday celebrating deceased family members! The crowd was proudly lifting the ashes of their deceased loved ones and celebrating them. Ironically, it was Hayden’s one year angel date, June 29, 2023 and I quickly realized I was participating in a funeral march! Holding reverence for his life with these welcoming strangers was incredibly comforting. Remembering this moment provides so much joy. Imagine how great it would be to celebrate your deceased family members once a year!

When I returned home, I quietly returned to my grief cave. It had been one year and I could feel people’s expectations of me. “Isn’t she better yet?” “How long does this last?” I knew this was about their discomfort but decided it was time to put my ‘finger in the dam’ and become a skillful griever. 

The bereaved conceal their pain. 

Only the closest friends can sense a subtle difference. The pain is concealed like a hidden flaw in an otherwise perfect diamond; visible only to a highly discerning eye.  I ‘bucked it up’ and ‘put on my big girl pants’.

To have a child ripped away from you is the absolute worst pain a human can experience and, dare I say, there is no recovering. You persevere. Mothers spend years protecting their children from danger, fussing over them, putting helmets on their heads and holding their hands in traffic only to eventually release them to the world. We click our heels together and pray for the best. 

Grief matures. 

The acute pain has gradually settled into a state of grace and I have surrendered to a higher power. For years I have had a daily meditation practice that includes journaling and prayer. I have always had a relationship with God and am grateful for this. It is no coincidence that I was introduced to Reverend Keith Horwitz (Soul Center OC) through Hayden’s memorial. His support has been a gift in my life and his prayer and meditation classes provided incredible clarity and balance. For three years straight, I studied for my own healing. As a result of these classes, I am currently a student in the Agape Licensed Spiritual Therapist program and it is a healing balm for my soul. I want to live, give and serve in honor of Hayden. I’ll always carry him with me.  

When Sitka passed, I knew I was vulnerable. 

Fostering an older dog seemed like a solid decision. As my son, Harry, and I walked through Eastwood, the older dogs reminded me of Sitka’s last year of struggling, blind and deaf. She never suffered, but that year took a toll on all of us. Just as I was leaving, the volunteer took us into the room with the pups. One wobbly puppy was awake and in the mood to play and pranced right up to us. It was actually more of a march; all sass and fuzz.

It was love at first sight. 

Her name was Hope. 

I named her Poppy Hope

The litter was only three weeks old, so I had to wait a month before bringing her home. I wanted to bond with her, so I made frequent visits. The first time Cyndi and reunited the puppies together, they immediately recognized one another and spontaneously rolled around together for an hour straight. Suki was Poppy’s (Poppy Hope) favorite playmate in the litter, so this was a dream come true. While Cindy and I chatted and got to know each other better, we realized that we had both lost a son. Cydi's son, Jake, had passed away February 25th, 2025. I could not believe it. What are the odds? The Universe works in mysterious ways. 

 Grief matures. 

I can sincerely say that I've experienced growth in this journey and I can hold space for others in grief and be a witness to their pain. This is a two way street. My friendship with Cyndi eases my heart, as well. We are 'members of the club that nobody wants to join''. It is helpful to have a friend who is living it and and really gets it. When I share with her about Hayden, it feels natural between us. We tell childhood stories about Jake and Hayden and laugh. It feels really good to talk about our sons with adorable puppies rolling around at our feet. Poppy and Suki are calm and content after their playdate and, for that hour, Cyndi and I are, too.