How Do I Tell You?

Wonderworld Intrudes Again

August 27, 2025

Dear Friend,

I hardly know how to start this letter to you. Except to just say it: Ruby died.

On Friday, June 27, I held my beloved soul dog for the last time. We scattered rose petals over her and wept. The grief of that physical separation swept me into fever dreams and tears through the night and heart anguish in the following days. And weeks. And now, months.

Grief does not exist without the intrusion of Wonderworld. It’s a strange thing. In the days after Ruby’s passing, I was driving down Thirteen Mile Road in Detroit suburbs, apprehensive about going into my empty condo. I cried in the car, telling Ruby I just wish she would come back. Or send me a message of some kind. If that was even an imaginable possibility.

I approached my apartment building, turning right onto my street, to find an eight point buck standing on the corner exactly next to where I always park.

This busy street is a half mile from Woodward Avenue (that’s Motor City’s Woodward Avenue.) I’ve never seen a deer, much less an eight point buck (and his little brother,) in my neighborhood. There are no woods nearby. But there they were, staring at me.

Last week while at Mom’s, I went out for a walk, feeling so lonesome for Ruby. Again, just wishing she could be with me somehow still. Mom’s neighborhood is surrounded by beautiful trees, and her neighbors have lovely hanging flower baskets. I’ve seen hummingbirds darting back and forth from trees to flowers a couple of times this year. But on this day, as I returned from my walk near the back door, a hummingbird soared over, circled gently around me, and stopped in mid-air right in front of me, just a few feet from my face. Just for a moment, looking right at me.

Then today, for the first time in months—since Ruby’s cancer-weary body could no longer walk with me, I drove out to Proud Lake, our favorite woodland escape from the noise of the city and suburbs. We hiked together on the Marsh Trail for years. In fact, Ruby and I started and led a Meetup Hiking Group, Hikes with Dogs, hiking there for two years before the pandemic hit. These trails were our sustenance, and the sweetest time together in our friendship.

I walked with Ruby’s leash around my wrist, her collar draped over my shoulders. I expected it might be a tearful walk so I came tissue equipped. No one else was there as I wandered. I talked quietly with Ruby, trying to feel connected with her. The forest and trails were ours.

“Where are you, Ruby?
I don’t see you. I don’t feel you,” I cried.

“I’m here in the breezes above you.”

The thought came to me like a message. I heard the whispering leaves swishing overhead in the trees. It calmed me.

Then, just ahead, through the brush that lines the lakeshore, I spotted the pure white graceful arch of a swan’s back. In the quiet of the afternoon, he floated, still, asleep under a hollow of branches. I stepped closer to the water’s edge on the mossy bank so I could peer through the trees and catch a photo. Beyond the hollow, EIGHT swans were sleeping!

Eight swans, their beaks and heads tucked into their snowy white feathers, necks curled snugly, napping on a perfect August day.

I’ve walked the Marsh Trail for years. Each Spring, I look for the pair of swans, awaiting the birth of their cygnets. Most years, I see just two, then none. So many little ones get snatched up by the herons, snowy egrets, other predators, and it is so sad to me to see the mother and father swans crossing the waters, bereft.

But this year, SIX cygnets survived! That alone is a wonder of nature!

Ruby and I always stopped to take a break on a deck built over the edge of the water, under tall trees. I would sit on the bench and watch the birds, swans and herons. I could hear Ruby’s body “thrump” down onto the deck even today, her collar tags clinking as she dropped her head to rest.

I watched as the swans slid across the reflections of clouds.

“I’m sending you love in the configuration of the swans along the surface of the water.”

8 swans a swimming

My heart and senses are altered by this encounter. I walk further along the trail, marveling.

And then this great lump of love came waggling toward me.

“Can I pet your dog?” I asked the hiking man.

“You’ll see,” he said, as his friendly gorgeous golden retriever walked right up to me with this beautiful face, her eyes locked into mine.

Dogs don’t always look into your eyes. She did, lifting her front legs up, not jumping on me, just raising her head to my eye level.

In that gaze, I felt Love. Pure love.

Of course, I’m tearing up.

“This is my first visit to these trails since my beloved dog died. My first trip without her,” I told the man.

“I understand. I really do. How old was your dog?”

“Eleven,”

“We lost ours at eleven too. I really understand,” he said with a Slavonic accent.

We spoke of our beloved soul dogs and the magical language of canine companionship, sharing photos.

“Nice to meet you,” he said as we parted ways. “You know, you can find another dog. Maybe you could.”

I nodded. “Maybe. I’ll see you again.”

Excerpts from Wonderworld

When Excerpts from Wonderworld was conceived, the vision began with this description:

“Excerpts from Wonderworld: Inklings about my beloved natural world & hikes therein with Ruby.”

What do I do now? Where do I go from here?

Back to Wonderworld.

I know that Ruby will still be my companion in Wonderworld. In forests and mountains, through snowy trails and on sandy shores. I want her back may always be my response when I miss her and feel that catch in my throat, but the truth is, the same spirit in her is in the breeze, in the sleeping swans, in the golden retriever, in the hummingbird and in the eight point buck.

And when I forget and feel far from her, I must go into Wonderworld, go where living things surround me and communicate love and life continually. I need just ask her to remind me, to come to me, in some unexpected way.

Ruby’s Closing Message

My life is not that special. I’m just a person making my way through the loves and losses that make up life. But what is special is what Ruby has taught and continues to teach me: to listen, to watch, and to see.

It’s what I wish for you, because I know you, too, have experienced that anguish of heart. And in a walk outside or a drive home, you may have Wonderworld encounters. You may ask for a message from a loved one. Sometimes you just need a message from Love itself.

Listen, watch and see.

In closing, I want to share a song with you that sustained me through the nights I awoke in tears, through the days I couldn’t grasp her absence. Written by Jacob Collier, it is said his friend who lost her baby felt it was written for her. It is broader, with meanings deep and wide, and it has brought me incredible comfort. When I sing along, I sing “Little Roo,” to my Ruby.

If you have lost a loved one and you miss them terribly, please listen. More than once.

Wonderworld is not exclusive to me. It is all around you.

Don’t miss it.

With all our love,

Linda
and Ruby

P.S. In my next message to you, I will introduce you to someone special who has come into my life. ❤️ But for today, it’s all about Ruby.

Baby Ruby on adoption day, March 7, 2014. My first dog, my beloved fur child.

The audio recording of this post is available for paid subscribers.