Free Animals and the Afterlife by Kim Sheridan Page A

resented.
    Early the next morning, I left a desperate message for animal communicator Sharon Callahan. My voice was so choked with sobs that Jameth took the phone and completed the message for me. Sharon had written articles about losing a beloved animal, and I knew I needed help. A little while later, she returned my call and shared a beautiful message she had received from June. She told me that June had been escorted toward the Light by a small dog and a bunny with floppy ears, surrounded by lots of angels. She said June kept looking back, knowing how much I was hurting.
    “She told me about something pink that you put around her body,” Sharon said. I looked over at the little blanket, covered with pink hearts, which now surrounded June’s body.
    June’s death hit me harder than anything before it. The house felt so empty without her. Nighttime was the hardest; I missed the feel of her warm fur against my skin. We buried her body in the yard, right outside our bedroom window.
    Flowers and sympathy cards arrived with words of praise for the beautiful soul known as June, describing how she had touched many lives, and how much she’d be missed. I knew I’d never forget June, and neither would anyone else who knew her. To this day, people ask about her, reminisce about her, and miss her.
    For a long time, Jameth and I caught ourselves constantly checking to make sure the toilet lid was closed and automatically doing other things we had done when June lived with us. Little reminders of her brought smiles and tears.
    I had always considered myself “a strong, level-headed person,” providing words of wisdom and a shoulder for others to cry on, but rarely letting my own emotions loose. Now the pressure of overwhelming emotions had reached its limit, and I needed an outlet. So, in trying to cope with June’s death, I attended a group breathwork session (a form of assisted emotional release facilitated through breathing exercises), in which I could share my pain with a supportive group of people and shed my tears in a safe, nurturing environment.
    When it was my turn to share, I told the group about the loss of my precious little companion. A lot of them had, at some point in their lives, loved and lost a dog or cat or other animal, so no one questioned the intensity of my pain.
    During this healing process, I visualized sending June to the Light and letting her go, which was a very powerful and therapeutic experience. I had brought photos of June and found great comfort in showing the adorable photos to anyone who asked. Cass, a friend of ours who—along with his wife, Shama—had founded the center where the event took place, hugged me warmly.
    “I can only imagine how you must feel,” he said. “I don’t know what I’d do if our dog died.” He called the next day and announced that, as a belated wedding gift, he and Shama would like to gift Jameth and me with free attendance at a forthcoming two-weekend emotional-release workshop. It was just what I needed. Jameth was unable to attend due to previous business obligations, so I went by myself.
    Opening up emotionally, and allowing myself to be vulnerable in front of anyone, was always painfully difficult for me. Throughout my life, I had swallowed many tears and worn many smiles that hid internal pain. So, my attendance at that workshop was one of the most powerful healing experiences of my life. Finally, it was okay to cry, even though I was all grown up. But equally powerful was the direction in which my life headed as a result of that workshop.
    I experienced two life-changing weekends, surrounded by people who understood, releasing the pain of my loss and so much more. June had brought me there, and what a gift it was. Laughing and crying, sharing, really feeling my feelings—the way June had. The most significant part of the event came quite unexpectedly….
    During a break, one of the other workshop attendees approached me.
    “They come back to us, you