Animal Voices
dawn baumann brunke
Introduction
When my husband of 33 years died unexpectedly on September 11, 2024, I was thrust into a deep journey of grief — but also, to my surprise, into expansion.
For over two decades I’ve been an author and animal communicator, connecting with countless dogs, cats, horses, and other species, translating their thoughts and feelings for humans. I’m at home in the space that allows such heart-to-heart and mind-to-mind communication, and I’ve been touched time and again by what we discover about ourselves when we open to it.
When Bob died, I was numbed with shock. It didn’t occur to me that I might talk to him. But my husband — clever and persistent as ever — reached out. He first appeared as a translucent presence in the corner of my living room. Two days later, he whispered words inside my head as I walked around a misty lake.
The skeptic in me wondered if I was imagining it, making it up to deflect the devastation of loss. But remarkable incidents continued, and I was curious to know what we all want to know: What happens when we die?
When I first conversed with Bob, my dead husband told me he was not really dead but alive and well in spirit world. He described his afterlife, emphasizing that each one is unique — shaped by our beliefs, experiences, and understanding from life on Earth.
Bob shared vivid details of his afterlife: reuniting with family, friends and guides; meeting other after-lifers who shared their death experiences; immersing himself in creative, meaningful scenarios; experiencing an expanded sense of time and being; even learning how to show up in the physical world as an animal or notable cloud in the sky.
He met and worked with his younger selves, helping them release old traumas and emotional burdens. He spoke of feeling lighter, clearer — gaining a deeper understanding of his choices on Earth. I witnessed his heartfelt appreciation for his many selves and their experiences, especially the difficult ones. Bob observed things about his former self in loving, nonjudgmental ways — something he had not been able to do in life.
Over time, he began to speak differently — deeper, wiser. He shared insights he never would have discussed while alive. In short, he was evolving. And I was evolving too.
I spoke with him every morning, typing our conversations onto my laptop. When I was with him, my heart was joyful. He was so present to me, just a veil away. But afterward, a heavy sadness overtook me. He was not here physically. I was alone.
I ventured into the difficult terrain of grief: confusion, overwhelm, emptiness, despair. I processed and integrated, contemplated and witnessed. I sat with the many emotions flooding through my mind and body, feeling their depth, asking what they needed. I felt myself stretching in uncomfortable ways — both when I was talking with him and when I wasn’t.
Our conversations put us on a fast track. We often dreamed together in the early morning. We became familiar with traveling between realms, meeting each other in a liminal space — not-quite-here, not-quite-there — somewhere in-between the land of the living and the after-living.
What you are about to read includes our conversations over the first eight weeks following Bob’s passing. The text is structured into eight parts, each containing seven daily entries, for a total of 56 short chapters. Though the editor in me longs to organize and summarize, this book is, at its heart, a journey. It is presented as we experienced it, for something magical happened as we spoke day by day.
What’s it like where you are? I asked that first morning when I realized we could converse at length.
Some questions are doorways. Mine opened a portal to the beyond. We explored past, alternate, and future lives. We traveled together in the imaginal realm — gliding on boats, trekking up mountains, digging in the coal mines of the subconscious. As these experiences accumulated, we realized our conversations were forming a pathway.
Bob reported that several guides noticed our efforts and offered assistance, for many newly arrived spirit beings yearn to contact their beloveds, just as those in the physical yearn to contact them. Indeed, the desire to connect with those we love occurs in both worlds. Our talks were creating such a connection — a bridge that allows for the meeting of consciousness.
This book holds the small story of Bob and Dawn, but it also offers a larger story, one that explores not only the mysteries of the afterlife, but also its connection to life — to all of us still living on Earth, to you.
We present no plan, no neatly ordered steps or stages. Rather, this book invites you to step in and soak it up. There is sadness and insight, doubt and illumination, frustration and humor — and so much love. Take it in, however it speaks to you.
As Bob put it one morning, What we are doing — and what others have done, and more will do — is reminding everyone on both sides that relationship need not end with death of the physical. There is a way to continue, to heal and support and love.
That is what we have been focusing on all this time — meeting on the bridge of connection. Both of us growing and expanding and evolving, helping each other by sharing our experiences and by sharing experience together. That is what is possible. So easy if you just open yourself to possibility.
There is a bridge that connects us to those we love, whether they be living in life or in the afterlife. Walking this bridge opens us to unexpected possibilities. It stretches and deepens us, awakening us to the boundless nature of consciousness, the evolution of the soul, the enduring power of love, and a greater awareness of who we truly are.
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