From The Archives: There's Magic in It.
Three years a Substack! Let's celebrate with fall colors, big smiles, and a little magic.
Hi friends!
We’re not that far into fall yet, but you can feel it coming – brisk mornings, chilly evenings, and a change in the light. Change is coming here too, but I wanted to pause and celebrate three years of Substacking. Three years! My first post, A Psychic Love Story, debuted on September 23, 2021. Over thirty posts later, we’ve shared sorrows and joys, isolation and community, and rallied around dogs, writing, and each other. That’s magic! Thanks for being here. May this pep talk from the past, December 2022, bring a lil’ magic to your present. xo
When you live in the Pacific Northwest, you learn to love Fall. The air is crisp and the maples are bright – reds, oranges, and golds – making walks feel more like skipping through a painting, animated with color. The world is awake, again, and dogs know it. On mornings like this, Petey Sellers would run outside, ears up and tail wagging, ready to prance and socialize. Everyone came out, especially with the sun and blue skies, a little window where we could walk and see friends before the rains started. Whatever the weather, we braved the elements, together. But Petey Sellers loved Fall the most.
“Mom, there’s magic in it!” he whispered as I typed.
A few months ago, I posted a shadow pic of us walking in the sunshine. My shadow loomed large ahead of his, but you could see the back of his head and practically feel his ears, bobbing. In the post, I talked about the grief poem I’d been writing, and how it was the only thing I could write that first month. I used Petey’s prescription – go here, write this, I’ll be there – and one Sunday, words finally appeared as poetry, tumbling out of me:
grief tastes like sun chips
like mozzarella and tomatoes
offered to me hours after you were gone;
I couldn’t taste them,
those little bursts of sunshine,
each bite sitting in my mouth like dirt,
dry and lacking.
grief tastes like coconut water,
like cucumber salad,
like little snacks he brought,
tiny bits of things he knew
I could manage;
a bite here, a drink there,
just to stay alive
in between elusive sleep
and sobs.
you were gone,
and yet you needed water
in your bowl.
The poem went on for another 18,000 words, unraveling itself because that’s what grief does; the ongoing undoing. But I was grateful to have a willing container, a place for big feelings to go. Sometimes I cried as I wrote, and sometimes I felt lighter, like I’d just had a conversation with my dog. I miss you, I wrote. Everything is vanilla, I said. I’m adrift, I shared. How much longer will it take to get across?
I started watching Grey’s Anatomy.
I used to watch it with my best friend Sara when we lived in the crooked house. Every Thursday, we sat on my curvy green couch built for one with a bowl of popcorn wedged in between us so we wouldn’t fall into each other. Then, the show was comforting because of the characters, but now it was comforting because of the content. In almost every episode, someone died. When I watched it, I was with my people; we were all grieving, even if they were on a screen.
During the day, I put my feelings in a box so I could work. But at night, when it was still and dark, I met my grief, again. Sometimes my sobs mixed with the sounds of a medical drama, and sometimes I wrote in my journal, silent tears streaming down my face as I worked through anger and confusion, heartache and loneliness. Luckily, Meredith’s final monologue usually ended on a high note. It reminded me how Petey wanted to end on a high note, too. One night, I stopped watching the show. Like the poem, I didn’t need it, anymore. It wouldn’t be the end of late nights or insomnia, but it was the end of a cycle, which meant that a new one was beginning.
There’s magic in it.
I wrote that phrase in my journal in thick bubble letters just like I wrote all of Petey’s messages when he was alive. Some were prescriptive – Every Day You Get A Joy Thing – while others were heartfelt – I’m Right Here. He reminded me to Put My Arms around my Grief; Dance it Out; and my favorite, Magical Thinking Is My Superpower. At the time he said There’s Magic in It, I knew he was talking about grief, but he was talking about other things, too, little things that made me laugh and brought me joy. Petey was reminding me to stay connected, because he was there to help, but to also keep moving through grief as it moved through me. It was heartbreaking, but there was also magic in it. This was Petey Sellers. I should have known he was talking about actual magic.
Over the past few months, Petey has shown me himself on a lounge with rainbow gems floating around him; I saw him playing fetch with my Grandma and hanging out with Keiko and Gigi, my former cats; Petey was in line with the corgis, waiting to meet the queen; playing baseball, in uniform, with a bunch of other dogs; and eating from the field of big bowls. He also played with lights and electronics. Once, when I took a selfie for a friend as proof of life, he changed the background to a virtual island that moved with me. Suddenly, I was in a tropical place and underwater, swimming with fish. He made my laptop flicker when I worked too late and played with the dining room lights when I was writing and felt lonely. One time, during meditation, he showed me himself on a broom, flying around with other dogs on brooms. He was playing Quidditch! Petey loved Harry Potter, I read the entire series out loud to him. He also had a lightning bolt in the fur on top of his head. My nephew found it the summer of 2019 and nicknamed him Petey Potter. I loved that he was getting to do all the things he loved now, things he’d only dreamed about. And I felt lucky that he was showing them to me.
One day, Petey Sellers hid my brush. I later learned that spirits liked to hide things, but on that day, I woke up with massive bedhead. After my morning dance class, I also had workout hair. Normally, that wouldn’t have mattered, but I had a Zoom meeting and my hair looked hysterical. I threw on a scarf, brushed it with my fingers, and went about my day. After work – and posting his previous post – I went back to the bedroom to look for the brush. I threw open all the dresser drawers, but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere. I felt a chill and when I turned around, there it was, sitting in the middle of the bed like it had dropped from the sky. Petey! I grabbed that pink brush and fell on the bed, laughing and crying. Petey Sellers played a prank – and I loved it.
The more I laughed, the more Petey showed up. He was there when I was sad, of course, but he was more likely to appear when I was in the flow, writing, dancing, or laughing. The more I took care of myself and kept moving, the more he cheered from the sidelines. I was honoring him and the process, and he was there, every step of the way. Sometimes he inspired play, which I desperately missed; sometimes he gave me signs, like a hearty paws-up; and sometimes he gave me a nudge when I needed it, the most.
There was magic in the way I got to share my life with Petey Sellers, go on the cancer journey with him, and care for him until it was time for him to go. Our entire lives were magic, from playing to puppets, adventures to songs, stories to pep talks to this community of friends who loved him as much as I did. But there was also magic in showing up to my feelings, being authentic in my grief, and being authentic in my happiness, too. Following inklings, making art, and leaning into the things that brought us joy – and brought joy to others – was how we lived. It’s how I’ve always lived, Petey just joined me and amplified it. There’s magic here, as I write, sharing with you and beginning to imagine a new life, one without Petey Sellers in the real, but in my heart instead, ears bobbing and smiling in the sunshine, forever. Wherever I go, he goes, too, a love that truly never ends.
There’s definitely magic in that.
Art
Need a little magic? Print this out and give it to your dog, a friend, or yourself. It never hurts to have a little magic in your pocket!
And Flynn is sending you a hearty paws up, too! 🐾
Happy 3 years and happy Fall colors!!!! 🤎🧡💚