If there was ever an anthem for Bedlam Farm, it was the daily call, “Rosie, let’s go to work,” as the two of us set out to encounter the farm each morning. I looked around for her when we set out to do the chores today, forgetting for a moment that she wasn’t there.

I decided yesterday to accept the new reality and take a photo of the Dogs Of Bedlam Farm after Rose, and without realizing it at first, I saw that the dogs had left a space for her.  There was something different about them, or at least there was in my mind.  I do not sense grief in them, but a keen awareness of Rose’s absence. This did touch my heart when I saw it on the computer. Lenore has become my shadow, she watches me constantly. I see they sense grief

Grieving is very healthy, very necessary when you have lost something you love, and grief is the toll you pay for love, the bill that comes due. I welcome it.  I would not wish a life without love or grief, for that would be a barren life.

I am overwhelmed and deeply humbled by the messages pouring in, through e-mail, Facebook and really, through the air and spirit of the farm. I am going through them, reading them, appreciating them.  Rose touched a lot of people. I am not too busy or too overwhelmed to see or read the messages, and I pledge that I will read every one. Please know that. If people took the trouble to write them, I want to see them. There are many, but not too many, by any means. I am not that famous or that busy. And they really help, every single one.

I am doing well. Rose is the first dog I have lost in a shared life. I have never put a dog down with someone close to me in the room.  Maria was with me every step of the way, sweet and gentle and loving soul that she is, and that makes all the difference. Before she died, Rose turned to Maria and licked her hand. A powerful thing to see, and a joyous thing to see.

My life is about moving forward and I will surely grieve for Rose, but I will  move forward too. There is a lot of life around here, and a lot of love, and I will be on that train.  Grief  is not the absence of life. It is an affirmation of it. I am very happy to report that my own book “Going Home” was tremendously helpful to me – from choosing the right vet, to recording images and memories, to taking time to say goodbye, to seeking perspective.  I was concerned this wouldn’t be so, but the book gave me a framework, a grounding. I will be writing about that.

One message stood out this morning and I want to share it. I have come to realize that there are many people out there who have followed my life, the farm, the blog, the books for years, and they are sweet ghosts and spirits in that it is easy to forget you never hear from the vast majority of people who follow your work. Once in awhile, they emerge and it is often very touching. Anne wrote me this morning. She has read all of my books, followed the blog for years, with all of its recorded ups and downs.

Anne had worked for many years,  and lost her work, and was alone in her 60’s, and had given up on life.  Anne said she read about Rose, and about Rose and me,  “and I read how you found where you need to be, and who to be with. I was inspired…” She applied for a job, and and got it, and now, she says, “like Rose, I have a lot of work to do,” a lot of life to live. A bright new star is in the heavens now, she wrote me.

Well, you can hardly to better for an epitaph than that. Rose, I see, is still working. She has only left the material world, but she is a bright star in the heavens now. She inspires me too.  She always has. Jon, I hear her saying, let’s go to work. Like her, I am a warrior for life, and if grieving is important, so is living a meaningful life. Thanks Anne, and thanks everybody else.