The Alpaca Who Taught Me to Let Go

There was a time in my life when I believed I could fix almost anything.

For more than thirty years, I worked at Costco. If there was a problem, I solved it. I worked harder, faster, and more efficiently. Determination was one of my greatest strengths.

If I'm being honest...

It was also one of my greatest illusions.

Then Hermes came into my life.

Hermes was my favorite alpaca.

He was as black as the night sky, with the gentlest spirit I've ever known. He had the sweetest hum, a soft sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him. Even now, when I think of Hermes, I can almost hear it.

Then he began losing weight.

At first it was subtle.

Then it became impossible to ignore.

The veterinarian and I tried everything we could think of.

Test after test.

Treatment after treatment.

We searched for answers together.

Nothing worked.

As the months turned into years, Hermes grew weaker.

Some days I would find him lying on his side in the pasture, unable to stand.

I'd call for my husband.

Together we'd wrap a towel beneath Hermes' belly and gently lift him to his feet. We'd slowly walk him back to the barn, one careful step at a time.

Sometimes he'd rally for a few months.

I'd begin to hope again.

Then the slow decline would return.

This became our rhythm for nearly three years.

Those were some of the hardest years of my life.

I was exhausted.

Heartbroken.

And completely consumed by the need to figure out what was wrong.

At the time, I was studying shamanism.

One day I said to my teacher,

"I just wish Hermes could tell me what's wrong."

Looking back now, I smile.

Because I thought I was asking for an answer.

Spirit was quietly leading me toward an entirely different path.

That simple wish became the beginning of my journey into animal communication.

But Hermes had another lesson waiting for me.

One I resisted with everything I had.

I couldn't control what was happening.

No amount of determination could change his illness.

No amount of research could guarantee more time.

For someone who believed that working harder could solve almost anything, this was almost unbearable.

Little by little, Hermes began teaching me something I had spent my entire life avoiding.

Sometimes love isn't about fixing.

Sometimes love is about being present.

Instead of spending every moment searching for the next treatment, I began spending more time simply sitting beside him.

Listening to his gentle hum.

Running my hands through his soft fiber.

Appreciating the quiet moments we still had together.

Nothing about his illness changed.

Everything about me did.

When the time finally came for Hermes to leave this world, he did so with remarkable dignity.

Today, the boys in my herd are between fifteen and eighteen years old.

Whenever one of my beloved animals begins that final chapter, I quietly thank Hermes.

Because every time I sit beside one of them, I remember what he taught me.

What Hermes Taught Me

Hermes changed far more than the course of my career.

He changed the way I love.

Before Hermes, I believed love meant finding the answer.

Fixing the problem.

Working harder.

Never giving up.

Hermes gently showed me another way.

He taught me that there are moments when the greatest act of love isn't finding another treatment.

It's sitting beside someone you love and allowing them to feel completely seen.

He taught me that presence is never "doing nothing."

Presence is one of the deepest expressions of love we can offer.

Looking back now, I can see that Hermes wasn't only preparing me to become an animal communicator.

He was preparing me for every guided message I've received since.

Every invitation to slow down.

To surrender.

To trust.

To release control.

To simply be.

He taught me those lessons long before I had words for them.

You May Be Wondering...

How do I know when it's time to stop trying to fix everything?

I don't think there's one answer to that question.

We continue to seek good veterinary care.

We ask thoughtful questions.

We explore reasonable treatments.

We advocate for the animals we love.

But there often comes a quiet moment when our role begins to change.

The greatest gift we can offer is no longer another solution.

It is our presence.

Sometimes simply sitting beside them...

Listening.

Touching.

Loving them exactly where they are...

Becomes the most healing thing either of you can experience.

We may not be able to change the outcome.

But we can change how we walk through it together.

And sometimes, that's the greatest gift of all.

May you see the world through the eyes of love, remembering that we are all part of one living, sacred whole.