An Ode to Archie

Hello my vagabonds. Are you exploring? Life is for living, and there is so much to see and do out here in the big, wide world, so I hope you wrap up warm, tie your laces and walk through that door to adventure.

Our dearest friend, Archie, the tank, has left his harness behind and has waddled through his doggy door on to his next adventure. To a never ending field of long grass, where he can jump and frolic like the land seal he was. Where the moon is a tennis ball that he can catch every single night and return to the sky as a beacon to others to play. He has returned to the stars, and tonight, if you look up, you will see he will shine the brightest to remind you of how much he loved you, and how important it is to live life like a dog, with a whole host of love and play.

I am aware of our societies view that we should safeguard you, the young, from the complex emotions of death, but, when have I ever been conventional? I understand, I believe, why we “protect” you from the “horrors” of this final unknown, the fear of absence of one who once occupied so much of your heart that follows, and the heavy burden of guilt over long lost opportunities that only become easier to carry with time rather than lighter. That is where I believe we have slightly misunderstood death and what it really is.

In all of human death the word “apocalypse” has been feared and revered since the dawn of time, in many different tongues, some since lost to the sands of time, but it has never lost it’s impact. According to the Oxford Dictionary, apocalypse currently means the destruction or end of the world. An absolute finality. However, if we were to be transported all the way back to Ancient Greece we may encounter a very familiar word, apokalyptein, but don’t go running, screaming and looking for cover just yet. We would have understood this word to mean to uncover, disclose or reveal.

However, just like us humans, the languages we have created have evolved with us and with it the words have changed their meaning. It has always been an impactful word, a life altering word (reserved for only the most sincere prophets and charlatans), but it is just that, a word. And, we must remember that when we look back at the origins of “apocalypse”, it is a word that we have the power to give meaning and that meaning is more important than the word itself.

When seeing death through adult eyes, death can feel like it will be an apocalypse, a finality, the end of our world. Will it be painful? Will I be scared? Will I be alone? Will anyone miss me? Was I good enough? We worry if the stories we have read or heard of pearly gates, mead halls or river crossings are true. We worry that if the stories are true, were we who our creators wanted us to be? So, sometimes we rule it out in the hopes we are not punished for our possible misdeeds by a disappointed God. We worry that if there is indeed a higher power, whether we fulfilled our purpose? Whether we helped make the world a better place? Or, whether our legacy will continue as the generations after celebrate our names, and stories of our adventures that will echo throughout the halls of eternity (only me then, huh?). “If there is no glory, then maybe there is no God”, we tell ourselves.

Yet, we tell those that we love and comfort that we believe life beyond to be true, even though deep in our hearts doubt has clearly been placed there. Sometimes it’s easier to tell yourself something can’t be possible because we fear the rejection more than the possibility. We have convinced ourselves that death is a known unknown through our own fear. No matter what our belief, in heaven, hell or just nothingness, many of us have lost the imagination so important in childhood to help us see the possibilities behind the word, “death”. Death is the revelation that life continues. That the soul continues it’s journey even when it’s body has been lost.

I believe that death should be taught at the beginning of your life, when the years ahead of you are limitless, everything is full of hope and wonder and our imagination can fill us with adventures to be had beyond the material plane. Your youth is entirely the unknown, it is your default, and you dream of the impossible with no hesitation or doubt. Those of us nearing our own personal apocalypse could do with your positivity and imagination. Maybe then, it should not be taught to the young, but, the young teach us.

As I held you in my arms and introduced myself for the very first time as your mummy all those many years ago, you shared with me an eternity in each tiny, fresh breathe. I could see us walking hand in hand, through all of time. Me marvelling as I watch you grow in to the writers of your own fate. A never ending journey, together. As you grew, though, I found myself more than observing, I found myself learning. Changes came thick and fast and I started to see eternity creep away me, as if the grip of our entwined hands was loosening. It scared me at first, the thought of our journey together ending, but of course, it always must. You have your own paths to follow, your own stories to write, your own webs to weave. And you have taught me something so profound.

I used to tell you that I didn’t make you, you made me. That the day you were born was the day I was born as a Mum. Well, it’s deeper than that I now understand. Knowing you was like knowing an eternity. Like the entire universe was unravelling before your tiny footsteps. The possibilities limitless. It was never that eternity was creeping away from me, per se. It was, and is, that you are eternity itself, my vagabonds, and you were travelling forward far beyond me, into a tomorrow I will never know. This is not sad, this is a celebration. I am the most fortunate and deeply grateful Mother on the planet to have been taught that such hope and beauty lies beyond whatever changes happen if we can only learn to imagine like children, and I am utterly convinced dogs, do.

So whether there are tennis ball moons and a sea of tall grass or an oak table in a home carved in to the cliffs surrounded by cherished ones where we next go is unknown to me. But, what I do know, from you, is that the death of someone, or something, is never the end, it’s the turning of the page, the beginning of a new chapter.

Be free Archie.