The Blessing of Room Number Nine

When the director of a regional animal shelter invited me to give a talk to their staff to support them in coping with the emotional toll their work could take on them, my answer was a resounding YES. What an honor it was for me to get access.

I also offered to facilitate a ceremony for the euthanasia technicians.

Tears

I am sobbing on my way to room number nine, the room nobody speaks about at the animal shelter. The end of the road.

I had just finished my presentation to the shelter staff on educating the public about euthanasia and coaching people to make the best possible decisions about the end of life for their pets.

The issue

We are encountering a problem on a monumental scale: too many animals are bred, mistreated, and discarded, leaving countless souls without a chance in this lifetime for one reason or another.

Many open-access shelters are bursting at the seams. The number of unwanted and stray animals in the US is at an all-time high, and the animal care staff at these shelters are mandated to end lives daily.

It is easy for outsiders to say, "Uh no, I could never do what you do."

Shelter workers are animal lovers, too. Many are gentle, practical, sad, and passionate! Some are checked out—too much to bear day in and day out.

The ghosts

I feel the energies, the guardians of the threshold, and the voiceless ones waiting for me — souls yearning for recognition.

"Here, it is me. Did you forget?" — "No love, never; you are part of my heartbeat."

It is about honoring the sacred and the pain of the humans and animals who meet in this room — the aching hearts of people and the fear, terror, and confusion of the furry ones.

"Why? What's happening?" — "Oh no, do not restrain me, please." The sweat of angst — let's get it over with, shall we?

My heart

So, here we are. How can we experience sacredness with this kind of death? How can we experience hope in the hopelessness, light in the darkness? How can we continue to love no matter what? How can we stay open in the face of so much suffering?

It feels as if I, or who I think I am, get swallowed by the cosmic ocean, and I am determined to my bones, in my core, to become one with the waves!

The ceremony

I enter the heavily air-conditioned room and am alone for a little while.

I place a bouquet of red and yellow flowers on the stainless steel deathbed, surrounded by candles and rose quartz crystals, symbols of love and healing. There is a rose quartz for everybody to remember this gathering and the shift that it will create.

Some brave souls decide to join the ceremony as it unfolds. Initially, we feel clammy and teary-eyed.

I talk briefly, suggesting that my new friends place some pictures in the stark white room that express sacredness and comfort for them, maybe pictures of their beloved, departed pets or deities.

One person brought a beautiful box so that people could write notes while working in the room. They can put the notes in the box and burn them later as an offering to release some of the anguish.

I also suggest that they name each animal, even if it is right before their heart stops beating. A number is nothing; a name creates dignity.

We smudge the entire room, the steel kennels, and the cabinet with the drugs, and then we smudge each other.

Yes, we are clean. We turn off the bright lights, and only the candles flicker.

We speak the names of animals whose deaths have haunted us. Sometimes, it is just a whisper. It comes from a place deep within, our souls united by utmost tenderness.

Redemption

I feel how the spirits of the animals who left their bodies in this room begin to relax.

"Thank you! Thank you for not forgetting me, for not hardening, for honoring me. Thank you."

The echoes of many, connection without separation.

Everybody writes notes of remembrance and love for the animals who passed here. We read them out loud.

Every single note starts with, “I am so sorry.”

And then someone says, “But know that you were loved, at least in your last moment.”

We place a piece of rose quartz on each other's hearts to release the pain. Now, the room feels rich and saturated with love.

In the weeks following the ceremony, I cannot stop thinking of room number nine. I feel the sorrow, richness, and the connection with the animals.

There is no separation, no more secrets. With each tear I cry, I feel a divine connection.

Epilogue

I want to thank the shelter director and the staff, who have the most challenging jobs imaginable. I feel deeply honored that they allowed me to see their gut-wrenching work.