Earlier this week, I celebrated Día de Los Muertos with 10 women at my home, and it was so special for so many reasons – but I just have to share one of them.

Late in the evening, my friends and I all took a minute to talk about our families and share stories of loved ones we were honoring and remembering. I don’t typically like to take pictures or video footage during these kinds of moments because I want to hear and feel everything my friends are saying and not get distracted by the art of photography.

At one point, however, I just had to take a quick photo of my dog Ginger.  Since Tommy passed away, she has always integrated herself into every ceremony I have ever hosted – sitting among us like one of the ladies, watching, listening and grounding us with her presence. 

For example, four years ago when my family sold our home and conducted a ceremony to honor all the memories it had given our family and friends, Ginger sat in a circle with a group of us – sitting in front of each one of us when it was our turn to share and not asking for any attention in return. 

A year later, when my family’s community came together to build a flower altar in a soccer goal net honoring the 2nd anniversary of Tommy’s passing (during COVID), she sat outside guarding it all day long as friends drove up to add a flower and make a prayer or wish. She never laid down. She never moved. She simply sat there making it clear that something special was happening and she wanted everyone to know it.

When my family’s TM23 Foundation hosted a community youth soccer tournament last year on what would have been Tommy’s 18th birthday (and also Mother’s Day), she once again took part in the festivities, sitting at the check-in booth, ears back, body calm and her soulful eyes lovingly gazing through everyone who checked in and crossed her path.

Well, earlier this week on the first night of Día de Los Muertos, Ginger was at it again.

When our ten minute ceremony began at an altar that we all co-created in my dining room, Ginger suddenly walked in, sat down and calmly watched as each speaker made a small offering and shared stories of their family.  Between speakers, Ginger quietly moved, sitting right in front of a different woman as if to say,  “I’m here for you too.”

I know she looks like a dog. A Pit Bull in fact. The kind people run from.  But, as a mover from 1-800 Junk once told me upon entering my family’s old home to help us move, “That’s no dog. She’s like Yoda.  Look in her eyes.  She’s got a soul full of wisdom.”

I guess what I’m saying is that I don’t think my dog is just a dog.  I’m starting to believe that when I host these special events honoring Tommy (and the boy she used to sleep with every night), she knows it and shows up to add some divine magic to it. 

Día de Los Muertos is all about remembering and celebrating ancestors and those we have loved and lost, but in the middle of doing so this week, I became so grateful for everyone I love who is still here with me – my husband and younger son, my parents and brother, my friends and colleagues – AND my beautiful Ginger. 

The Mexican tradition of Día de Los Muertos says that dogs have the unique ability to communicate and go back and forth between worlds. Can your dog do this?

I’m pretty convinced Ginger can, and I know she’s not the only one.  

If you are grieving some form of loss and seeking ways to heal your heart, consider rescuing a dog or some other animal of your choice. Serving is healing. Animals are healing. And when we save an animal in need, they offer a level of companionship that many human beings can’t sustain, and in the process, without saying a word, they help save us too. Why?