On grief…
Grief must be kind of like having a baby, from what I hear. After time, as I understand it, you forget that cutting, multilayered pain of bringing a new life into this world.
Grief after losing someone has got to work the same way; I know it does as this has not been my first experience with it.
This go around, it’s because our dog, Monty, my soul mate, my best friend, my comfort died this week. I wasn’t expecting this level of pain to take over. But right now, it’s so raw and acute, that knowing of being able to forget the pain is far away. After a period of time (that is unknown and on no clear trajectory), I know I’ll begin to remember the happy moments of a life lost, not the final moments. Which is kind of like having a baby, but not. As there is no new life to sustain you. In this circumstance, the life that sustains you is in the past. The only life I can rely on is a life through memory. The memories are in the present, they will come and go until they begin to settle in on the beautiful memories of her life with a more regular beat.
We had been waiting for her to leave us since September of 2019. We thought it might be a relief when it finally happened. Oh, I was so wrong.
I haven’t experienced this level of grief pain since my cousin Damian was killed in 2012. Our Monty girl was there to pick up those pieces and hold the pain and sit with me then. Poor thing held us when pain showed up so many times. When my husband’s uncles passed (we lost two in the same decade). My husband’s mom in 2011. My grandma in 2013. One of my closest friends in 2018. My friend in grad school who died by suicide in 2019. And even outside death, grief still showed up when I was diagnosed with MS in 2011. My Monty was always there. She was my consistent shadow. She would curl up with me as the tears flowed and grief took over. She would look at me with her concerned Cocker eyes, and then settle on my lap letting out a big sigh, urging me to stroke her warm silky soft body. A small acknowledgment of it being okay to lean into grief for a life lost, or a life once planned gone. While each circumstance has been different, the pain has been similar. And it’s true, you do forget how horrible it feels. Until something happens again.
I find myself wanting to get to that space right now and escape from the guttural, stomach punch, heart hurting, WTF physical pain without any obvious external wounds. It’s kind of a like an invisible pain that doesn’t have any external symptoms unless you count the tears, puffy eyes, lack of sleep, and weight loss. To be honest, I didn’t think it would hit me like this - the only thing that provides solace in this moment is that it was her time. She had been sick with heart disease for over a year and a half, and her body eventually began to fail her. I didn’t want to believe it was happening last weekend, and so denial kicked in. Ha, denial. It can serve in moments, until it fails.
I should have known the pain I’m feeling right now would be a very distinct outcome after sitting with clients as they mourned the loss of a beloved fur baby, but it didn’t feel real to me. I pushed it away in those sessions and always reverted my focus to my clients. Though on more than one occasion, I would well up during session, as grief touched me softly.
Even writing this piece invites in grief to be big and sit with me. On top of me. Just as our girl sat with us. It feels like she’s still here all the time, but not. Only in my memories of her final moments, which are so distinct, cutting, and show up out of the blue. Uninvited.
I could go on. And on. But, just now, I am reminded of a question I might ask myself. The same question that I ask of my clients who have experienced a similar loss of a beloved soul mate: “What would Monty say if she was here with us, right now?”
My answer is the same as theirs: “Thank you, thank you.”
RIP sweet Monty girl, we will love you forever.
XO