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I want to share something deeply personal with you—my very first real conversation with Ellie after she passed.
Those first three days without her were brutal. My whole being ached. Sometimes I’d get little moments of relief or lightness, but mostly it felt like something had been ripped out of my chest. Like I was lost forever. Like it would always feel this way.
But on the fourth day, something shifted.
She came to me.
Or maybe more accurately—I was finally ready to feel her again.
I believe she had been there all along—inside my heart, deep in my truth—but my human self needed space to grieve. I needed to really feel her absence in her physical form. To let it land that I wouldn’t hold her again. That I wouldn’t smell her fur or hear her paws on the floor.
We all need our own time to feel the weight of that physical loss—before we can feel the deeper truth: that they’re not really gone. Just gone from this form.
We were driving out of town. My husband was at the wheel, and my mother-in-law was up front. I curled up in the back seat, mostly unseen, with Fenix beside me. I felt like a child again—small, quiet, raw.
In that tender space, I let myself cry. Almost silently, but deeply. I let my little body shake. I let myself miss her. I let the pain of loving her and losing her pour out. It was bitter and beautiful all at once.
Then I knew. I was ready.
I reached for my healing journal—the one I used to call my blue book. From that day forward, it became My Blue Healer.
I did what I always do to begin my feeling-for-healing process. I wrote an intention at the top of the page. And then my whole heart spilled out:
“Hey Elzie, [Elzie was the most affectionate nickname my husband and I used for our sweet girl.] I loved you so much. I still love you so much. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. I wanted to do more. I really really did. I’m so beyond sorry that it didn’t work out. I wanted so much to keep you forever. I really did. I’m so sorry. I loved you. I still love you. Thank you for being here. Thank you for loving me. I know you did. I’m so sorry you were in so much pain. I’m so sorry. So incredibly sorry. I miss you. Fuck I loved you. I love you still. I do feel so guilty for letting you go. I am so so so sorry. I miss you. How are you doing? Do you miss me? Did you love me?”
With the dam fully breaking, my sobs shaking my whole body, Elzie responded…
“Yes I loved you so much. I love you. I loved you. I really loved you. You were calming and wonderful for me.”
There is nothing that can replace the feeling of receiving that.
No amount of logic—no recounting of the facts about her illness, or the neurologist’s words about how much pain she was in—none of it could bring me the peace that her loving presence did in that moment.
Raw. Real. Broken wide open… I felt calm. I felt peace. I felt the oneness of us, the perfection of our story, the love that still was.
Then she kept going. My pen just moved without hesitation. And she gave me these three gifts:
“I came to SHOW you how much love you are. How much love you give. How much courage and energy and perseverance you have. And I came to SHOW you how profoundly you follow your heart. It didn’t make sense for you to take me home that day but you trusted your heart and not everyone else that was saying it would be too much.”
“I came to give you time. A deeper appreciation of time. All the time you gave to me, I’m giving back to you now—for you.”
“I came to teach you to growl, to speak up. To growl when you need to. To rage if you need to. To ask for what you want, even if it feels unreasonable. At first, you thought I didn’t love you when I growled. But my growls were my only voice—they were me saying, ‘I’m scared. I need space. I’m in pain.’ And you listened. You learned. And now I’m here to tell you: it’s okay to growl. It’s okay to need space. It’s okay to ask. It’s okay to be sassy like me. Speak your truth.”
September 6, 2024 changed me forever.
And yes, like most of us, I’m a slow learner. I know I’ll be learning to fully accept how worthy of Love I am for the rest of my life. But that day, something shifted. I grew. I trusted my own heart more. I found my voice a little more.
And I can see it in my life since:
And now, Ellie and I are here to support you in receiving all that your Rainbow One has for you, too...
This journey has been a roller coaster. I’m still on it. But now, instead of feeling like one of those terrifying rides where you think you might actually die—it feels more like a safe, gentle one. Still bumpy, still emotional, but I can stay with it now.
Here’s the truth: we are complicated beings. I believe we are Souls—bright sparks of pure Love—having a human experience. And that experience includes all kinds of thoughts, emotions, and “parts” of us that have their own stories, needs, and truths.
When I’m connected to my Soul, I feel her love. I feel the peace of our connection. I feel the bigger picture—the perfection, the rightness, the deep rhythm of this life.
But my human mind still worries. My emotions still ache. Sometimes I miss her so much it hurts. Sometimes guilt creeps in. Shame too.
We often think we’re one single being, growing and evolving on a neat and tidy path. But that’s not how it’s felt for me.
There are moments when I feel incredibly clear—like the static of my human pain has quieted, and all that remains is the truth: that I am Love. That I am one with Ellie, and with everything. And in those moments, I just know everything is okay. Those moments are coming more often. They’re stronger.
And then there are still moments when I drop into fear, or sadness, or doubt. But even then, I don’t forget the truth. I know I’m just in it. I know that Love is still real, still underneath it all. And that helps.
I hope this makes sense. I’m sharing it as honestly as I can because I see a lot of people hit a level of spiritual clarity—and then stop allowing themselves to feel their pain. To get messy again. To grieve.
But that’s where the growth is.
We stop evolving when we stop letting ourselves feel.
And grief—especially the loss of someone we love this deeply—is one of the greatest teachers we’ll ever have in how to stay open, even when it hurts.
Most of what I share in this book is backed by my degrees, my client experience, and peer-reviewed research. But this next part? It’s just from my own personal experience. And I don’t know if it’s universal—but in case it is, I want to share it.
For the first six months after Ellie passed, I couldn’t feel her in the “easy” moments. If I was having an okay day and I tried to mentally check in with her, I couldn’t feel her. It felt like a memory, not a connection. Like a thought, not a feeling. Sweet, but flat.
But when I let myself miss her—really, truly miss her—and cried, and let the pain wash through me? That’s when she would come. Without fail.
So here’s my early-days theory: there’s something spiritual that happens when we allow our hearts to break open. The grief itself becomes the portal. The pain becomes the doorway. When we stop resisting the ache—when we let it move all the way through us—it makes space for the connection to return.
Every time I allowed the missing to rise and crest—every time I surrendered to the tears—she’d show up. Her presence would flood in. Gentle. Loving. Complete.
Now, over six months later, I can feel her anytime. But in those early days, I couldn’t. Not without going through the grief first.
It reminds me of the wisdom of Rumi:
"The wound is the place where the Light enters you."
And…
"You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens."
I couldn’t say it better myself.
Grief cracked me open. And through that crack, Ellie came pouring back in.
Let me be very clear—this isn’t about mediumship. It’s not about channeling spirits or being psychic. You don’t need to be clairvoyant. You don’t need any special gift.
This is something we can all do.
It’s simply about allowing your heart to imagine, and feel what your Rainbow One might say to you now—and trusting the loving energy that flows through that.
The fact that you are HERE reading THIS book is everything.
If your pet grief wasn’t incredibly ground shaking and life changing you wouldn’t be reading about pet grief.
And you wouldn’t have that grief if you didn’t love your animal with every fibre of your being. I mean radically. I mean unconditionally. I mean super-humanly or spiritually.
So as I shared earlier you have evolved past withholding your love unconsciously or consciously to protect yourself from pain. You may still have patterns of withholding your love from humans, or not.
And so you CAN do this.
And you WILL find your human doing what it can to fight you to show up for this. Because like I said in the first 3 chapters, we humans do not like to FEEL. We run from pain and discomfort like Fenix running from bath time.
So be kind and patient with yourself. But do yourself a favor and right now claim and know that you can connect with your rainbow one and have a fulfilling and uplifting relationship for the rest of your life. And i hate saying this over and over, but yes, it’s gonna hurt for some time to break your heart open to a place where you can receive the hugeness of your animal’s love and the hugeness of your own self-love and worthiness. But with the love and support that you need, you’ve got this.
Let me be really clear—this isn’t about being a medium or channeling spirits. It’s not about having psychic gifts. You don’t need to be clairvoyant or spiritually advanced. You don’t need any special training.
This is something anyone can do. Truly.
It’s about letting your heart speak. It’s about imagining what your Rainbow One might say to you right now—and trusting the love that comes through that connection.
The fact that you’re here, reading this chapter, tells me everything I need to know.
You’re grieving deeply. That means you loved deeply. Radically. Unconditionally. You didn’t just “own a pet”—you were in a sacred, soul-level bond. You gave and received a kind of love most people never even taste.
So yes, you can do this.
Your brain may try to argue with you. Your emotions might try to shut it down. And that’s okay. You’re human. And as I said back in the first three chapters again and again, humans don’t like to feel. We avoid discomfort like Fenix avoids bath time.
But with gentleness and patience, you can begin. You can remember how loved you are. How worthy you are of connection. How safe it is to feel again.
This will take some courage. It will stretch your heart. But it will also heal it. And I promise—your Rainbow One will meet you there.
You’ve got this. And we’re doing it together.
Think of someone you love deeply—someone who isn’t physically with you right now. Maybe they’re in another city, another house, or even just another room.
Even though you can’t see or hear them, if you close your eyes, you can probably feel what they’d say if you were hurting. You can imagine how they’d hold you. You can feel their comfort. Their love. Their energy.
That’s all this is.
It’s not about seeing ghosts or hearing voices—it’s simply allowing your love to create a space where connection can happen. It’s letting your heart speak and letting your heart listen.
You already do this every time you think about someone you love and smile. Every time you remember their hug, or imagine what they’d say if they were with you right now.
That’s the skill. That’s the doorway.
And you already know the way in.
At first, it might feel like you’re just making it up. That’s okay. That’s totally normal.
But here’s the thing—your brain is amazing. It remembers how they would respond. How they’d comfort you. What they’d say when you were having a hard day. And your heart? Your heart knows their essence. That soul-level feeling of them. The way their love landed in you. That never goes away.
So even if the words feel imagined at first, keep going.
Eventually, it starts to shift. The connection softens. Deepens. Heals.
When my mum died, I was only 14. It wasn’t until I was in my thirties that I finally started opening to the pain of her loss and allowing myself to reconnect.
I couldn’t remember the sound of her voice, or the details of her mannerisms. But I didn’t need to. Because I could remember the feeling of how deeply loved I was. How deeply I loved her.
And that kind of love? It has a voice of its own. It’s kind. It’s soft. It moves mountains with a whisper.
So don’t get caught up in what the exact words would be. It’s not really about the words—it’s about the energy. The love. The connection.
Just begin. Even if it feels like you’re making it up.
And trust that in time, something more authentic, more effortless, and more real will begin to flow through you.
Healing isn’t a one-time thing. It’s a process. It takes time, space, and a lot of tenderness.
You might need to say the same things again and again. And you might need to hear the same things back from your Rainbow One—many times—before your nervous system really receives it.
Like this morning. I opened my journal and simply wrote, “Hi Ellie.”
Great Job! That’s Week 10 Reading Complete 🏆 🎉 😁 🙌
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