Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life.

That’s Prince. Let’s Go Crazy. Go listen to it. I’ll wait.

Cheddar is orange. Like the cheese. That’s the whole joke and also the entire truth of him.

He was technically Brandon’s dog. Brandon rescued him, trained him, claimed him, named him. And then we moved. Brandon to Fargo and us to Roswell. The night before we left for Roswell I looked at him and thought — what was I thinking. You’re Cheddar. You’re coming with me. He came from Ruff Start Rescue out of Princeton, Minnesota. He almost stayed behind. He almost became somebody else’s story.

He didn’t.

He is fourteen years old. He is my last dog. We have had dogs in this house for twenty-six years — six Great Danes, Cheddar woven through the middle of all of it, raised alongside them, outliving them. He carries the signature of every single one. Morgan, who helped raise him as a pup. Sophie, who loved him. Steve, who he got along with well. When I say he’s my last dog I mean the era is ending and I don’t quite know yet who I am on the other side of that. After him it’s me and Merlin, my feral portal cat, to the edge of whatever comes next.

I want to talk about pre-grief because I don’t think we talk about it honestly.

Pre-grief is what lives in your body before the death arrives. It’s the exhaustion. The disrupted sleep from the sundowning. The anger that lands sideways on the wrong target. There was a period where Cheddar barked at me every single day — only me, always me. And I had to learn that it wasn’t Cheddar barking. The disease was speaking. A mind without its landmarks, reaching for the one it was most bonded to. That’s what we do. All of us.

I am not a nurse. I never wanted to be. My nervous system is not built for that kind of sustained caretaking and I have had to make peace with what that means about me — which is nothing, except that I know myself. He has been incontinent for a year. His back legs are losing their strength. He walks to the edge of the yard now and faces the woods.

I know what that means.

His energy is still Cheddar. Connect to him there and you will find him — pure, present, the one I know. But if you expect him to be the dog he was, you will be disappointed every time. Learning that difference is part of what pre-grief teaches you if you’re willing to let it move through instead of around you.

I have been angry. I’ll say that plainly. The situation lands sideways sometimes and I’m not always graceful about it. That’s not failure. That’s a person who loves something that is leaving slowly, doing the best she can.

I have brought him back from the brink more than once. Some of you have witnessed it — watched him dissolve into nothing and then come back, melt into someone’s arms and return. He has come back every time we’ve asked him to. He is a miracle dog and I have not stopped believing that miracles are possible.

But his legs don’t have the strength anymore. And he’s started to wander toward the tree line.

I’ve asked him to go naturally if he can. I don’t know if he can. I’m holding May 13th in my heart — my mother’s birthday. My last dog, my only mom. One birthday, one death day. We’ll see what he tells me.

My intention now is to be intentional with him. To sit with it — with him — even when every part of me would rather be doing something. That is the practice. Not sitting with grief gracefully. Sitting with it anyway.

Here is what I’m working with today — my personal grief grid for Cheddar:

Chrysoprase for grief and the heart. Malachite for pain. Orange calcite because he is orange, because he is Cheddar cheese puff, because color is medicine. Crazy lace agate for joy and the spirit of who he has been. Trolleite for connection to spirit and the throat — he was the most vocal dog I have ever had, and sometimes he gave me a headache, and I would give anything to hear that bark right now. Mookaite jasper because at a time when I was bodily feeling ancient, this dog helped walk me back to health. Morganite for Morgan, who helped raise him, and for the heart. And the goldstone Merkaba for spirit and light.

Crystal selection is intuitive — different every time, for every situation. Pull from what you have. Go find what’s calling you. And sometimes nothing is meant to be held. That’s okay too.

Grief comes in many shapes and sizes. So does any threshold — a diagnosis, a relationship ending, a chapter closing, a being preparing to leave. The process looks like this regardless of what you’re losing.

Sit with these if you’re at a threshold of your own:

What is actually in front of me right now that I keep looking away from?

What has this being taught me about myself that I didn’t ask to learn?

Where is my anger actually coming from?

What would it mean to sit with this instead of manage it?

For those of you who do miracle work — grid work, energy work, prayer, whatever your practice is — I am asking you to join me. Hold the highest potentiality for Cheddar. Bring your light to this. Some of you have been with us through this whole year and you know what you’re being asked to hold. Thank you.

In the month of May, 25% of all MMITCG owned crystal sales from the shop will go to Ruff Start Rescue in Princeton, Minnesota — where Cheddar’s story began.

Everything has been better with Cheddar.

Send me strength.

Walk as. Don’t wait for. Today is zero day. What are you going to do with what you see? 🖤🌙✨

Kristin

visiting hours 🐕​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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