Grief sucks
Grief is so interesting because one day, one moment, you are fine, and the next, you are crying on the freeway.
My dog passed away recently, and I’ve done okay with it. I mean, it sucks, but it hasn’t debilitated me like one other passing had. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve dealt with it before, so I’m better at it; because I prayed and asked God to give me strength, and He has; or because I haven’t accepted it. Maybe it’s a mix of all three.
But today, I couldn’t stop thinking of her. It started last night when I got an email wishing her a happy early birthday from her vet. Her birthday is in a few days, and I dealt with that fine. Then today, I got a text from her groomer saying she was due for a visit. I had to call them and tell them she’s no longer here.
It just sucks.
I still walk around like she’s here. I still think like she’s here. In my mind, she is still here, but when I look for her, she’s nowhere to be found.
Then sadness hits, and it’s not the all-consuming, tear-shedding, world-shaking sadness. It’s quiet. It mellows everything, like the sky is not quite as blue as before, like it’s just a little harder to breathe. It feels like everything has shifted a bit, not to the point that everything is broken, but the lines don’t line up the way they used to.
Then, every now and then, the pain comes. Sometimes it brings tears with it, but most times, it’s this overwhelming, time-shaking, body-aching feeling. This is the one that stops me in my tracks, makes me pause what I’m doing, and feel.
I can’t ignore this, nor can I just let it pass. It forces me to feel it. But the hard part isn’t the feeling itself. It’s that life still moves. I still have things I need to do, people I need to show up for, a smile I need to have, pleasantries I need to say.
So I take a moment, feel it, gather myself, and repeat: It’s going to be okay. I’m going to be okay. She is okay. Then I say a little prayer, get up, and go.
Today marked the two-year passing of the grief that shook my world. Maybe it’s a mix of that, too. I don’t know.
Her birthday is on Sunday. Her first birthday without her here.
God, I just miss her and wish she were here. Eighteen. She would have been eighteen, and I know that’s a long time for dogs, but forever wouldn’t be long enough with her.
She would have been eighteen. We would have decorated the house, gotten her her favorites and an outfit. She would have had the people she loved the most around her, but that just won’t happen.
I’m still trying to navigate how to talk about her. Do I talk about her in the present or the past? Like she’s still here or gone? Then people will be like, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry for your loss,” and I don’t want that.
I think I’ll always be a mother, but will I have to say she’s in heaven now every time?
I miss her so much, and I hope she knows how much I love her.
She is my everything, and everything has been harder without her. I made her promises, so I’ll keep pushing, but my heart aches without her.
I get what you mean about grief. It really can be like that, going from being okay to suddenly crying when something reminds you of the person or pet you lost.
I am sorry to hear that your dog passed away. It makes sense that, for the most part, you have been okay, especially since you have experienced pet loss before. That doesn't mean the loss won't hit you hard sometimes, though. I can imagine that getting an email from the vet wishing her a happy early birthday and a text from the groomer reminding you about her visit would have brought up a lot of emotions. It's hard having to tell other people that your dog is no longer here, especially when those reminders make the loss feel real all over again.
I can understand how you still walk around thinking she is here, only to be reminded that she isn't when you look for her. Grief can show up as that quiet sadness where everything feels a little different, as well as those moments when the pain hits so hard that you have to stop and let yourself feel it. It must be difficult to experience those feelings while knowing that life keeps moving and you still have responsibilities and people to show up for. I think it's important that you allow yourself those moments to pause and feel what you need to feel, even when you have to gather yourself and carry on afterward.
I also wonder if the two-year anniversary of the loss that shook your world might be contributing to some of what you have been feeling lately. Grief can bring up other losses, too, sometimes when we least expect it.
Her first birthday without her sounds especially hard. I can tell how much you love her, and I get what you mean when you say that even eighteen years wouldn't have been enough. No matter how long we get with our furbabies, it can still feel like we needed more time with them. The way you describe the birthday you would have planned for her, with decorations, her favorite things, an outfit, and the people she loved around her, really shows how special she was to you. I wonder if there might be something you could do on Sunday to honor her and celebrate the life you shared, even if it looks different from what you had imagined.
I understand what you mean about not knowing whether to talk about her in the present or the past. You should be able to talk about her in whatever way feels natural to you. She is still a part of your life and your story, and you shouldn't have to avoid talking about her just because other people might respond with condolences when that isn't what you need in the moment.
And yes, you will always be her mother. You don't have to explain where she is or say that she is in heaven every time you talk about her. Your relationship with her and the love you have for her don't disappear just because she is no longer physically here.
I can tell how much she meant to you, and I am sure you gave her so much love throughout her life. It is understandable that things feel harder without her and that you still ache for her presence. You can keep the promises you made to her while also giving yourself permission to have difficult days. You don't have to be okay all the time to keep moving forward.