It was a warm and sunny morning. I was alone with our dogs, Emma and Rumi. I had just received a phone call from my sister. My mother had just been transported by ambulance from her home of 65 years to the hospital. In my heart, I knew she would never go home again.
Trying to capture my breath, I went outside to sit in our private backyard. The dogs followed me through their doggie-door. They sat at my feet as I cried and cried, loudly. As herders do, they had their heads up and their eyes open, resting, yet in their protective state of alertness. I felt their presence. I felt their understanding.
Suddenly, all hell broke loose. They jumped up, barking wildly, and ran to our property line, merely 15 yards away. They hesitated briefly, then ran through the electric fence. I realized I hadn’t put their electric-fence collars on them.
Before I knew it, they were both running towards a man and a woman walking their dog through a neighbor’s property. I was not too far behind them. Rumi, our young male, kind of hung back and barked. He was like the Prince, protective of the older female Emma but usually following her lead. Emma. She was 10 years old and partially blind, but maintained her stature as the Queen, the leader. Without hesitation, she went right after their dog, who was 3 times her size.
As I was running towards the confrontation, the man turned and kicked Emma across her side and she landed about 10-feet away, rolling in pain. Without hesitation, I shoved the man away from her in the other direction. He was much younger and much heavier than me, but something swelled in me that was instinctively powerful.
Gathering himself, he walked away yelling and cursing at me. Tongue-tied by my emotions, heart beating wildly, I said nothing. I gathered Emma and Rumi, and returned quietly to the more pressing matters at hand.
My mother, who lived almost 2 hours away, and who I had been visiting religiously for 10 years since my dad’s passing, was later transferred to a rehabilitation hospital and later to a nursing home where she passed a year or so later.
As a puppy, Emma had made many visits with me as I spent weekly time with my dad in his last years. She accompanied me on many trips I made to visit my mom. She was my hiking companion, and had summited Equinox Mountain, Dorset Peak, Pico and Killington (on the AT/LT) with me, as well as many hikes to Equinox Pond and Prospect Rock. Emma had been there through it all… my dad’s passing, the birth and growth of our yoga studio, my mom’s passing, the deterioration of our marriage.
In the midst of everything going on, Emma passed away a few months ago, after I returned from a few weeks away, and before we sold our house of 23 years and ended our marriage of almost 29 years. Some of you will understand that blessing.
When Jo called me up to tell me that Emma had been put to permanent sleep. I cried and cried. Loudly. Like I had a few years before. Rumi stayed by my side. The vet said that Emma had been quietly suffering for many years. Through it all, she had maintained her grace and gentleness… and her caring for me.
She had always made me feel like I was seen, like I belonged. She always welcomed me home. She always made me feel safe.
In her last years, few understood why I would pay extra attention to Emma’s safety. As she got more and more blind, I would sit by her side, especially when young and rambunctious kids would visit and run around. In my own way, I was protecting her and the kids who did not understand her protective instincts.
Few understood the connection we had. No one understood the gravity of that day when my mother left her home for the last time.
Most of you know me as a quiet, kind and caring guy. I rarely show my emotions. I am a Capricorn, born on December 25. My instinctive nature is to provide safety and stability with a quiet strength to persevere and to protect. But I also know that my emotions are my superpower, too. My love is unconditional and quietly powerful, especially when I am with other beings who recognize it and accept it. Obviously, it can also be expressed outwardly in powerful ways with my efforts to protect and to care for others… when the time is right.
Hanuman remembered his own superpowers when he leaped across an ocean to save Sita. I remembered my superpowers when I leaped up to protect Emma… as well as when I did what I needed to do to care for my parents, my former wife, and her kids.
And I am reminded every day when I look into the eyes and touch the hearts of my yoga and personal coaching students, that our true power is in the wholehearted expression of our loving emotions.
To this day, I see Emma as my guru… the one who has opened my heart and taught me (and continues to teach me) how to be powerfully graceful and gentle.
On a path of truth-seeking, finding our way as we learn from our life experiences, sometimes our most powerful lessons lie somewhere in our most surprising moments… especially when those moments are born from the uninhibited expression of our innate loving emotions.