This Love I Call Grief (the toll it’s taken, but why it’s still beautiful)
I’m almost 10 months into this grief journey, this going to Earth School without our baby
girl. And one thing I’ve realized is the metamorphosis of grief is nothing short of
astounding.
In this article:
The Ever-Changing Shape of Grief
It changes, it shifts, it screams for attention some days and makes you think it’s not
there at all on others. It opens old wounds, creates new ones, and swirls around your
brain and being in confusing ways. Just when you start feeling “better,” one tiny thing
can trigger a cascade of sadness or longing that feels, I imagine, like drowning. A song.
A renewal request for the microchip membership. Another animal’s passing. A birthday.
A holiday.
We’re planning a trip out of town; similar but not identical to a trip we took 12 months
prior. Last year, I was elated planning it; I did tons of research, an Excel spreadsheet
with details, all the things. I was so excited.
This year? It has honestly felt kind of empty; void of much of the excitement and joy I
felt last year. Which has, reasonably, brought some distress. So, I asked myself why.
Although life has its ways of testing you (and there have been plenty of other things
going on), it hit me that the main thing that had changed was Maui’s passing. I realized
that even if I’m not feeling the grief from the physical loss of Maui the same way as, say,
5 months ago, it’s still there, quietly informing my thoughts and behaviors.
Fear. Grief. Worry. Anger. Longing. Irritation. Sensitivity. Attempts at control. Even a loss
of sense of self. A new “normal,” whatever that means. Her littermate and brother, Fiji.
He’s still with us, our sweet man in his golden years, facing his own complicated grief,
along with his own complicated health issues. And the intense fear and anticipatory grief
that comes with that.
When Everything Changed
Last year’s trip was amazing. But not soon after we got back, that’s when Maui got
really sick.
We had a beautiful year with her after her shocking cancer diagnosis, but we had hoped
for so much more. I was always convinced she would live to be at least 20 years old,
outlasting everything around her because that made sense to me. She was a universe
all her own; a constant steady, grounded presence in the household. But things
changed for her quickly, in ways that were absolutely devastating to witness. I
remember waking up constantly throughout the night in that last week, unable to
breathe, unable to think. And the resounding questions of, “why her?”, “what did I do to
contribute to this?”, “can this reverse itself”, “why didn’t I know sooner?”
We did everything we could; tried all of the interventions; saw all of the vets. Everything
happened so fast, and before we knew it, her main vet was telling us she was out of
time and there was nothing we, or anyone else, could do. So, we left that room and
gave our princess the best last 24 hours we could and a soft landing at home, along
with a 15th birthday celebration for she and her brother. We placed her on a beautiful,
smooth fabric filled with shades of blue and purple, sprinkled with palm trees. We wrote
her one final note. And we laid purple orchids next to her.
The Person Grief Has Made Me
I’m different now; losing her, and what led up to losing her changed me, and aged me.
As one of the grief specialists here said, grief is a teacher and brings much wisdom.
And this is so true. It’s changed me in ways I didn’t know it could and has brought a new
requirement for learning and growing I didn’t know I needed. And, although I thankfully
still find plenty of joy and meaning in life, I can’t ignore what is ultimately still there, and I
don’t want to (although, I think I tried to).
I realized I had somewhat disconnected myself from Maui and my grief for a period of
time, not all intentionally. But I came to fully understand that disconnect does not erase
grief, or the connection. And if the disconnect is large enough, it only sets you back and
removes you from the being you love so fiercely. I’ve learned managing my grief is a
thing, rather than repressing or constantly reframing it.
Being a part of this community has been a breath of fresh air in a world that, mostly,
does not seem to understand the massive depths of grief from losing an animal that was
your best friend, your child, your parent, your everything. I am grateful to my husband
for finding PLC and telling me about it, and grateful for each and every person I’ve
came in the mail when it felt like our whole world crumbled beneath us. And grateful for
the continued safe space provided for anyone who needs it.
Grief Is Love
Honor your grief as sacred, because it is. Give it love, even when it hurts. And, when
you’re wondering why the world feels different, and things aren’t as easy as they used
to be (or easy at all), realize that this grief is love. And to feel that depth of love for
someone, anyone, is one of the greatest gifts we can receive.
If you’re navigating pet loss—whether you’re facing a difficult decision, grieving a recent goodbye, or carrying a loss that still feels close—you don’t have to navigate it alone. Pet Loss Community offers compassionate support from people who understand the depth of the bond we share with our pets. Learn more about support available through Pet Loss Community.
Comments