Swoop, Pause, Love, Repeat.
Two years a Petey Sellers Secret Society! One year a spirit.
Write what you need.
That was my mantra when I started writing about Petey Sellers in early 2001. He’d just been diagnosed with lymphoma, and every Wednesday I took him to the cancer clinic for chemo and check-ups, blood draws, and boosters. And every Wednesday after I dropped him off, I had so many feelings that I had to write. But I couldn’t focus on my current manuscript. I couldn’t find books on the topic, either, or blogs that focused on anything but diet recommendations and alternative treatments. The information was useful, but I was looking for guidance, little nuggets of wisdom about how to help your best friend through cancer treatments when your best friend was your dog.
That’s when I started writing these pieces, myself. I vented about prednisone. I found the humor in a dog who wouldn’t eat. I shared uplifting signs seen on walks, talked about BFF t-shirts, and revealed Petey’s origin story, one involving a psychic. The most popular post to date is the one about a writer’s life, which was really a dog’s life. But every Wednesday morning I wrote, letting the pen ground me while he got treated. And every Wednesday night I drew awards for Petey Sellers, a little something to cheer him on in his journey. Together, these became pep talks that helped me, too. And in September 2021, I started sharing them here, with you.
Feel it, free it.
On Thursday, August 24th, Petey Sellers became one year a spirit, and that was the message he gave me. It came out of meditation, and I carried it with me as I drove to Mt. Tabor. It was early, the air was clean, and there, right in front of me, was something I hadn’t expected to see. On the yellow yield-shaped sign that said “Playground” was an aqua sticker: Petey’s Best Friend. I gasped. Some part of me knew it was there but that morning, I forgot – until I saw it.
“You loved it here,” I said, wiping my tears and heading uphill. I took my time, wandering like he would have wandered, smelling everything. I stopped at a bench he liked, taking in the view; I felt the sun on my back and smiled; I carried his leash in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, nodding at every dog I saw in recognition. Dogs are wonderful. My dog was wonderful! And when I got to the top, I sat on the bench in the middle, his leash in my lap. The day was gorgeous, bright blue skies, puffy little clouds, and Portland below.
“Mom,” I heard Petey say. “I’m free!”
I looked at my phone. It was 10:20 a.m., the same time he passed the year before. The same time I heard him say this phrase as his spirit left his body. Tears rolled down my cheeks, plopping in my lap, as I looked out at the city. Oh, my beloved. You were so loved. You were the very, very best dog.
“Mom,” Petey said more quietly. “Is there anything else you can let go of?”
I’d thought about that a lot, lately. Partially because the body remembers, and partially because I cried myself to sleep all week. Grief insomnia. In the previous weeks, I almost got bodywork; I almost attended a grief ritual; but apparently, those things weren’t what I needed. This was.
I took a breath, closed my eyes, and saw them immediately – thick, dark patches around my heart and in my stomach. I inhaled into these spots, and with as much energy as I could muster, exhaled, long and deep, breathing them out of my body like smoke. I continued this process – inhale, focus, exhale – over and over until the dark parts were gone, wisps flying away with the wind. I opened my eyes and a hummingbird appeared, high up in the space between the trees. It paused, hovering with the strength of its wings, and then flew off. Recovery. Healing. Rebirth.
Suddenly, I had a poem. I wiped my face, got up, bowed to the sky, and went to a tree. I leaned against it and recorded a poem in my voice memos. Here’s part of it:
I stare at the city
a city that stands without you
a girl without her dog
one year a spirit
but I’m still here
breathing
standing
walking,
life goes on
and on
and on
but I take you with me
and then the end:
And so I sit,
breathe,
and send more grief
to the sky,
to the city,
floating away
like whisps of steam,
releasing from a volcano
that’s cooled,
a year past
the trauma of explosion
Thank you, I think
I love you, I say.
I love you! I hear,
Forever! he says.
I get up from the bench,
spread my wings wide,
and glide down the hill
like the hummingbird
swoop,
pause,
love,
repeat.
The rest of the day, Petey Sellers was incredibly chatty. Go toward your future! he said. Mom! Take me with you! he cried. I loved hearing his voice. But when I sat at the dining table to transcribe his poem, I wanted more. Petey! I said. I need to see you. Can you please show up? Moments later, a white butterfly appeared in front of the window, the kind I hadn’t seen in weeks. Petey! It looped a few times, doing its dance, then flew away. I haven’t seen it, since.
A few hours later, Petey asked me to do his “love bomb,” and I laughed. He loved to do this on anniversaries, as he loves to be remembered. So I chose the photo that popped up on my phone and texted his friends. I posted on social media, too, and everyone came out to say hello. As always, Petey wanted me to be in community, and I wanted to be there, too. It was too hot for a dance party or to plant a tree, so I took the day off and planned to spend it with Petey, honoring him in whatever ways felt best. The day was bittersweet, but it was also pretty joyful. Petey wanted to talk about the future, draw things, and sing. How could I say no to that?
Feel it, free it, Petey said, chatting. Make art, love harder, be present. Dance. Move through it. Be yourself. I drew everything he said on a piece of paper, sang his song, recorded a new one, and sent it to friends. In the evening I walked to the park blocks with friends and Petey’s friend, Kiehly. I carried one of his orange daisies and stuck it in a hole in his favorite tree. Petey Sellers! We remember you. That night, as I meditated, I felt him, warm energy spreading everywhere. I cried myself to sleep.
The next day was almost harder because it was the first day Petey Sellers wasn’t around. A year passed, and this was the end of all the firsts. For a year, his unconditional love as a spirit got me through. But that night, when I went out and looked at the supermoon, I released even more. And after a weekend of not doing much because the air was smoky, and because I needed to process, I felt even lighter. In meditation, I saw Petey’s rainbow spirit outline flying over the supermoon. He was free! And now that I was on the other side of a year without him, I was freer, too. Petey Sellers! Gone, but not forgotten. I take your smile, enthusiasm, and spirit with me. I was joyous before you, even more with you, and I’ll be joyous again without you, amplified for having known you.
This space has always been about a writer and her dog.
On the one-year anniversary of Petey’s death, I’ve been looking back at all the posts I’ve made since starting this in September 2021. Two years. Two years! I can hardly believe it, a journey that I felt sure I’d do alone ended up being a journey I shared with you. Thank you! Writing about Petey Sellers every month healed my heart more than you’ll ever know. I like to think, while he was here, it healed his heart, too.
The next Monday after his anniversary, Petey showed me something during meditation. The two of us were together and then, suddenly, a garden sprouted up around us, vibrant leaves and trees, vines and flowers, a mix of jungle and Versailles growing until beauty was all around us. Mom, Petey said. We’re surrounded by gardens forever. I held my hand to my heart. Together, Petey and I created the most wonderful life. But I made it through one year without him, and I would keep going. We’re never truly alone when those we’ve loved are with us. And after a caregiving break, paying off chemo debt, traveling, and tending to new parts of life, I may get another dog, again. But until then, I’ll tuck this image of me, Petey, and the gardens
surrounding us in my heart as a reminder.
Things grow when we give them light, sunshine, and the nourishment of friends, family, and the world. Life grows when we tend to it, water our hearts, and, for writers, write. When we write, anything is possible. Everything blooms. Sharing our hearts means joy is around every corner. Thank you, Petey Sellers, for teaching me that and so, so, so much more.
Swoop, pause, love, repeat, my beautiful friend. We’ve got this.
It’s Friday! When I think about Petey Sellers, I totally feel the love. Join me! xo
What’s Next?
A friend once told me that she always thought of the Petey Sellers Secret Society as being about Petey, but really, being about me. It’s true! It’s where I write about writing, animal relationships, and life. So, I’m taking that to heart as I feel into what’s next. Stay tuned! I promise it will be good and have plenty of that Kari spirit.
New Feature: Good Writer, Good Dog
In the meantime, I’m starting a new mid-month feature: Good Writer, Good Dog. It’s a profile of some of my favorite writers, their dogs, and the magic between them. Plus photos! Drawings! And maybe even a few writerly nuggets. Our first guest is the ever-fabulous Karen Karbo! Stay tuned. Thanks for reading, sharing, subscribing, and becoming a paid subscriber in Petey’s honor. We heart you!
