When Love Doesn't End: Holding Space at the Threshold

Celebration of Love, Life & Death,
 

I've been sitting with this truth a lot lately. Reflecting upon each of the beautiful souls that have shared my life and each of whom I deeply loved and cherished each, special relationship, their quirky personality, likes and dislikes. Savouring sacred memories, and the deep grief endured afterwards dealing with loss, the impact mentally, emotionally, and more.

It started quietly — memories of my own beloved Tippy, a gentle death and assisted transition two years ago, and my darling Geisha, my soul animal whose presence still walks beside me every single day.

And then there was Bailey.
 
Bailey came to me as an end-of-life foster — a palliative care placement, the kind where you know the goodbye is already written into the hello.

But Bailey wasn't the sort of dog who let a timeline define him.
 
When he found his way to me, Bailey had found himself surrendered to the shelter because of his mast cell tumours. Sadly expensive veterinary treatment meant his elder pensioner owners had to make the heart-breaking decision to surrender their companion to the shelter.

When he arrived, he found an instant mate in Tippy. The two of them just clicked — no introduction period, no warming up. Just recognition. Soul friends, the kind you don't question. We carefully tended him as he recovered post-surgery, and Tippy comforted him and helped him heal with shared presence and often snuggled together.

While fundraising for veterinary treatment which would enhance and possibly extend his quality of life. And so we created a 'Bucket-List for Bailey'. Not a sad one — a joyful, purposeful one.

We chased moments that mattered. We didn't count days; we made the days count. Every car ride with the window down, every sun patch on the grass, every stolen treat and belly rub was deliberate. Presence, not prognosis. Living, not waiting. Our backgate opened onto 5 acres of parkland, and connected to a local creek path, which we often walked slowly stopping for Bailey to check his pee-mail upon every tree and bush along the way.

Various events were suggested and offered to the rescue for Bailey to raise funds and publicity. A local police officer volunteered to drive him around as an honourary Police K-9 dog for an hour — a brief but memorable stint — and he also served as a firehouse dog for a day, a local radio weather-forecaster interview, where he helped read the weather.

He was gifted a Pawty-party at a doggy-day-care centre, played in a ball-pit, and even ate doggy-ice cream and a Pup-Cake.

Bailey even made the local newspaper and was on the News, raising funds for rescue and bringing awareness to the animals who needed a second chance. He rode on a Harley motorcycle. The photo went viral and became a meme! Bailey lived life fully. No half measures. No waiting around.

 
And when the time came — when Bailey needed assistance to the vet for his final crossing — it was mt beloved Tippy who felt it deepest. I've never seen grief like that in an animal. Destitute. Lost. The bond they'd built in such a short time had been complete. 
 
That's when Reiki stepped in. A  volunteer from the shelter reminded me of her Reiki practice, and offered her support. Not to fix anything — grief isn't something you fix. But to hold us. All of us. The Reiki treatments, gentle energy to support Tippy through her devastation, supported me through my own, and filled the space Bailey had left with something gentle. Something that said, this much love deserves this much care.

Ritual, meditation and ceremony was essential to my process through grief. Reiki, spiritual prayer, sacredness honouring not only our emotional connection but an intense connection formed which needed to be honoured.
 
Then there were Lilith and Athena. A champagne and cream, and black and white, 2 tiny rodents full of personality, sass and love. Born with respiratory issues, they carried the fragility that many rats do. Eighteen months to three years — that's the span they're given, and it never feels like enough. They lived full-lives, both loved to sit on my shoulders and groom my hair as we watched tv, and daily allowed free range to safely enjoy exploring, and cheekily heading to the pantry, tapping on the door often asking for their favourite food.
 
Lilith grew sick first. Despite so much veterinary treatment, we reached the point where the kindest thing was pain relief and home. We brought her back to her bonded sister, and something extraordinary unfolded. We gathered on a mattress together — and all our animals, cats and dogs alike, sat vigil with us. The whole household held love around her. I placed my hands on her, Reiki flowing, and simply stayed present as she transitioned. Her sister sat beside her, grooming her with compassion and care, snuggling. I was devastated as she took her last breaths cradled gently in my hands. Athena sat there for a few moments, sniffed her one last time, and then turned away from her sister and back towards her food. My partner and I made a small coffin for her, and planned a private ceremony to farewell in style, honour and ritual complete.
 
Just months later, Athena began nearing her time too. This time, the vet gently told us the most compassionate path was to assist her crossing, to alleviate suffering rather than prolong it. Making that choice broke my heart all over again.
 
Their lives were so short. But oh, how they lived. The way they eagerly played together, sharing food and toys with such delight. Lilith, the cheeky one, forever trying to steal the shiny silver earrings right out of my ears. Athena, my little groomer, perched on my shoulder tending to me as if I were her own. Both of them pushing their tiny heads into my cupped hands for ear scratches, eyes closing in pure bliss. Their favourite fresh peas and corn kernels. My fat little ratties. Rest in peace, beautiful girls.
 
The deep emotional bond we share with our sentient animal companions doesn't come with an instruction manual for letting go.

What do we do with all that love when the physical body is no longer here to receive it? Whether they were with us for fifteen years, eighteen months, or just the sweet stolen season of a palliative foster — the size of the grief matches the size of the love. Full stop.
 
This is the question that keeps finding me.
 
I've spent years as a Reiki practitioner, sitting at the bedside of people managing chronic illness, walking alongside those in life-altering health journeys. I've held space for animals in rescue, decompressing from trauma, learning to trust again.

I understand the body. I understand energy. But more than anything, I understand that the love between a human and their animal companion is sacred — and that sacred things deserve to be honoured, especially at the threshold.
 
Ceremony matters. Pausing matters. Gathering the fragments of a breaking heart and holding them with reverence matters. The vigil my animals kept for Lilith — that was ceremony.

The bucket list we made for Bailey — that was ceremony. The Reiki hands on Tippy as she grieved her soul friend — that was sacred space, unplanned and instinctive and real.
 
I think about Tippy. I think about Geisha. I think about how alone I felt in those early days of grief, and how much I wished someone had simply sat with me and said, "This love you're feeling — it hasn't gone anywhere. Let's honour it together."
 
That's the space I find myself moving toward now. Not explaining it fully yet. Just naming that it's here, this quiet pull, this deepening.
 
The animals have always been my greatest teachers. They've taught me that presence is the most powerful medicine, that permission is everything, and that love doesn't ask for credentials — it asks for courage.
 
To anyone reading this who is walking alongside an aging companion, or carrying the fresh weight of loss, or preparing for a transition you can already feel on the horizon: you are not alone.

What you're feeling isn't too much. It's exactly the right size for the size of the love.
 
Make the bucket list. Chase the sun patches. Sit vigil with the whole household, human and animal alike. And when the grief comes — yours or your remaining animals' — let Reiki, let presence, let love hold you.
 
Sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is simply be present for the mystery of it all — one breath, one heartbeat, one sacred moment at a time.
 
I see you. I understand. And soon, I hope to walk beside you in a new way.
 
— Lainey ❤️