Nurse: Have you been stressed lately?
Me: Nope
Nurse: You normally have low blood pressure. Today it’s very high. So, any stress?
Me: Nope! Not really.
John: (tucked in a chair on the other side of the room) HMPFFFFF
Backing up a sec, last week I came down with the flu. I was knocked on my ass with a high fever, aches, chills, the works. By the weekend, all that was gone, except for this horrible pain in my lungs. Something I would totally just “wait and see” but my dear, sweet husband gets stern and crotchety and grumpy whenever I refuse medical treatment. {Aside: Not sure I’ve ever mentioned this, but I am an AWFUL patient. I refuse to believe I’m sick. Ever. So, going to a doctor is totally pointless. Because I’m not sick.}
So, there I was. Exactly where I didn’t want to be. The nurse, nurse-practitioner-in-training (“I graduate in 30 days!” …grr…), and my glaring husband: Have I been stressed lately?
That day, yesterday, was five months since we lost Lucas.
Have I been stressed…
Here’s the thing, the crazy, mind-boggling thing about grief: It makes every other load heavier. Have I been stressed? Well, I’m slammed with work, including an evening gig helping with some data processing at a family member’s company, and then there’s all the house stuff and dealing with our tenant in Bloomington, and a whole new round of vet appointments for these guys–heck, finding and getting them set up with a new vet–and we’re about to do the next round of ear infections with Cooper, plus budgeting and yard work and laundry and the latest round of oncology checks for me and for Em, plus a million things big and small that always have to get done.
None are unmanageable.
It’s just that all are made that much harder as I slog through them under the weight of missing my Lucas.
I recently finished Brené Brown’s book, Rising Strong. {Aside: The second I finished the final sentence, I handed it to John. He’s reading it now. This book should be required reading. For everyone. Seriously. Go check your library right now. I’ll wait….}
Anyway, in it she writes:
As individuals, we’re afraid of the darkness grief brings. As a society, we have pathologized it and turned it into something to cure or get over. Owning our stories of heartbreak is a tremendous challenge when we live in a culture that tells us to deny our grief.
No one really wants to see grief. No one really wants to talk about it. At least not after a certain “acceptable” point. Plus, all that grief talk is aimed at people grieving other people. There’s practically no wiggle room in that journey for grieving pets. The next day: “So, when are you going to get another dog?”
Brown goes on to write about the longing stage of grief when it’s perfectly natural to engage in “magical or unrealistic thinking” and to wish fervently to “simply touch what we’ve lost.”
That, I think, is where I am right now.
As for yesterday, after a terrifying moment at the doctor’s office (paraphrase: “We’re going to give you an EKG because, even though it seems like the flu, stranger things like heart attacks have happened.” And then the EKG’s printer stopped working.), I got a diagnosis of pleurisy and instructions to take some Aleve and take it easy. At which point I drove home, finished my work, drove to the evening gig, then came home to work on this post while eating dinner in bed with Cooper.
It’s been five months, and I haven’t figured out how to move past the keep-myself-busy-so-I-don’t-cry phase.
Five months and I still find pieces of his fur when I take off my cell phone case to clean underneath.
Five months and when the weather is just so, we still say it’s Smoochy weather.
Five months and sometimes it feels like minutes and sometimes ages.
He filled such a specific spot in our lives and our hearts. It’s a spot that can never again be filled, which makes its emptiness weigh all the heavier. Every time I feel like I have a handle on it, it somehow gains 10, 20, 30 pounds, and I drop it again.
The grief chapter from Rising Strong knocked me on my ass. In a good way. It was immediately followed by the flu followed by pleurisy. Signs, perhaps, to be gentler with myself.
Right after I take Cooper to get his ears cultured this afternoon…
One final note: I started drafting this post with the intention of making it about that grief chapter and hopefully opening a discussion about grief and pets. I believe this is an area that is sorely, woefully, unfairly glossed over. Skipped. Grief is hard enough, but when you’re grieving a pet and you put it out there, you risk getting slammed (“Why are you so sad? He was just a dog.” “Think you’ll get another soon?”). So we don’t talk about it past a certain point. To me, five months seems way past that point in terms of what’s culturally acceptable, yet I’m still grieving. Anyway, I was hoping to use this post to open up a discussion about pet grief, but it turned into word vomit. I’ll try again another day, but if you have any experiences you’d like to share or lost pets you want to discuss–because it’s really okay to discuss lost pets, no matter how much time has passed–I’m here.
Now that we have Glock, my empathy trigger is even more sensitive. Crying my eyes out at ‘Old Yeller’ – child and adult – I can barely get through a Facebook post about a military dog or family pet passing. I’ve had friends devastated by the passing of a dog, but had a hard time with the fact that they disparaged my sadness at the passing of my cat.
Cruelty to animals has, in what might say is perverse, always angered me more than say the shootouts every weekend in Chicago. Animals are defenseless and innocent, which cannot be said of much of the the cruelty humans get up to against each other. Which sins, seem to inevitably follow cruelty to animals.
I sometimes think life (and death) with a pet is meant to make us better humans. God created us to be stewards of nature, one of the greatest gifts we are blessed with as it can nourish the soul as well as the body.
PS I also avoid doctors like the plague.
I love that sentiment. I do think loving these guys, working with animals, being stewards of nature–as you so perfectly put it–all that does truly help us be better humans. Thank you for sharing that.
(And I am SO glad I’m not the only one who avoids doctors…)
You are right about putting yourself out there, but I have found that no one on the blogs ever said anything but the kindest words to me. Everyone has their own roadmap with grief and in my case, one loss brought back the grief of others. Its hard. Hugs and understanding………..stella rose and momma
I love that: Everyone has their own roadmap. Such a clear visual. Hugs and understanding back to you, friend.
So sorry your under the weather, pleurisy is very painful, please take care of yourself. As for the grief of a pet, I have a few thoughts: they are family, I love my dog better than some of my human family members, she is my best friend, hero, champion, and room mate, and a thousand other things I do not have the time or space to mention. She fills a large part of my heart, just thinking about her makes me happy, I can’t even imagine losing her, but someday I will, or she will lose me, that is the cycle of life. Just like when my dad died I grieved, I did not try to grieve it became my companion after his death. I had no idea how long I would feel it, and even when I thought I was okay people who knew me would ask if they could give me a hug. Here’s the thing though, it does go away, but we never know when, so when I needed to cry or yell or sob, or sing, I did. There was no allowing myself to feel my grief, I had no choice, it was just there. Hard to explain to some people so I didn’t try. People who have experienced it themselves understood. It doesn’t matter if the family member we lost has 2 feet or 4 feet, they are family, they are loved, and they are missed. While they are not replaceable, I believe there are many more dogs/pets that need love and good home, so I would get another one, I feel it is a responsibility, and the love gained from it is indescribable. So grieve Maggie, because you don’t really have a choice, but believe me time does heal. I kept telling myself that I was lucky to have loved the family member I lost. I also believe that our body will tell us to slow down in any manner necessary to get us to do just that, so take some time to get better, and if you have to cry or scream or yell or sing, do it! The hell with those that don’t understand it!!! Thanks for a great blog.
Thank you for the kind words and for sharing your experiences. I can’t even tell you how much I love that singing is one of your responses! What a happy way to express grief, one that I think I’ll take on myself (I don’t know how happy John will be about that, but… 😉 )
I had pleurisy a few weeks ago. Our lungs represent grief by the way, so it makes perfect sense that you are grieving with this diagnosis. Years ago I had pneumonia (really bad- hospital for a week etc.) and it was all tied into among other things, grief around my dog. A few months ago I was watching Marianne Williamson and there was a woman who had lost her husband 4 months prior and was wondering why she was still so sad. Marianne shared that if we have 37 tears to cry and we’ve only shed 19 then we are not done grieving. That we grieve for as long as we need to grieve and it’s individual and personal for everyone but it’s real and needs to happen and be acknowledged. You are wise to accept and acknowledge your grief. We have to be with our feelings first before we can grow. Note the “be” not “do.” Geez- I didn’t mean to get so metaphysical but that’s what I’m learning so I’m sharing. Sending love.
I’m so grateful that you do take the time to share what you’re learning, Diane! You always have such insight, and I’m so happy you’re willing to share. This really touched me: “Marianne shared that if we have 37 tears to cry and we’ve only shed 19 then we are not done grieving.” I love that. It’s so forgiving. Thanks again for sharing.
And I hope you’ve recovered from your illness! I’ve never had pleurisy before, but it sucks!! Fingers crossed you’re healed!
Jezzabelle was my heart, my soul, my ONE. She has been gone almost eight years and there are still things that bring it all rushing back and I have to just stop and cry. And I still go to bed every night hoping I will dream of her. I have since gotten two more dogs and though I love them with everything I have, Jezzabelle will always be my ONE. I feel your grief Maggie. There is surely no timetable so take your time with it and please be kind to yourself.
Thank you so much for sharing. Jezzabelle was so lucky to have you and to have you holding space for her in your heart. Hugs to you, Michelle.
I feel your pain. We lost our Hershey in January and I still cry for him multiple times a day. I am still in complete disbelief that he is gone. He was our first/only dog. We got him when he was 9 weeks old and he passed about a month shy of his 9th b-day. He was the sweetest soul and my life will never be the same without him in it. I know that over time it will get easier but for now, it’s unbearable. I bought a couple of books on pet loss and am hoping they will help me. I really wish there were more support groups for this type of loss. I am in the Denver area and I only found 1 and it’s not close. 🙁 Hugs to all who are grieving the loss of their furbabies.
I did a Google search maybe these will be close by for you…
http://www.pet-loss.net/resources/CO.shtml
http://csu-cvmbs.colostate.edu/vth/diagnostic-and-support/argus/Pages/resources.aspx
If you are interested here is the google search I got those
https://www.google.com/search?q=denver+pet+loss+support+group
Hope that helps you!
THANK YOU for sharing those! How incredibly kind to take the time to search and share. So grateful!
I’m so terribly sorry for your loss, Jill. It’s so hard. I understand. I hope the books you picked up help. I just ordered one called Grieving Mindfully that was recommended by someone who recently lost her dog. It arrives from Amazon today or tomorrow, so I’ll be sure to share my experience with that book in case it helps anyone else. Be gentle with yourself. Thinking of you and Hershey.
I believe we should embrace grief, rather than be ashamed. There is a hole in your life, and no matter what society thinks, it fills with sadness. Experiencing grief makes us who we are and helps us more acutely feel the beauty and happiness that abounds as well. I’m going to reserve that book now….
Yes! What a beautiful sentiment. Thank you for posting that insight!
Let me know what you think of Rising Strong. I loved it. So many takeaways and pages and pages of notes to think through!
First of all, to those who say “it was just a dog”, my first response would be “and you’re just an idiot.”
Now, on to the rest. Callie left US 7 months, 5 days, and approximately 4 hours ago. I am still grieving. Sometimes tears escape my eyes and roll down my cheeks, sometimes not; but Callie was my heart and soul and she took a piece of each with her when she left this earth. I miss my girl every moment that I’m awake. And I admit it freely. Acknowledging the pain, allowing yourself to express it, is, IMHO, the only way to deal with it. And at this stage in my life I have stopped caring what other people think. It’s amazing how free that makes me feel!
Grief isn’t something that should be judged. Each of us experiences it differently. And we each experience it in different ways depending on what/who it is that we’ve lost.
Callie’s spirit is always with me. Just a moment ago, I heard her panting behind me. I know it was Callie because Shadow was about 5 yards away, howling at a siren she heard up on the main highway. I can’t see Callie’s spirit most of the time, but I can hear and feel her nearby. And I’m sure that Shadow can, too. Ducky? Maybe once in a blue moon, but she wasn’t bonded to Callie like Shadow and I were. Hubby says I watched too much “Dark Shadows” when I was in high school. That “all this spiritual stuff is a bunch of hooey.” My response is usually a resounding “up yours, dear.” And a “Bronx cheer”. ?
Seriously, tho, any time you want to talk about Lucas and your grief, give me a shout. I know how it is and I’m happy to listen with a caring and compassionate heart.
I think of you often. I know we’re going through this together. I’m so grateful you took the time to share your story.
I know Lucas is still here with us, too. We have this joke… You know how sometimes cats get spooked by something no one else can see or hear or feel? Newt does that. She fluffs out, then dashes to hide. Our joke–since the two never got along–is that Lucas has chosen to haunt her. So, when she spooks over something invisible, our joke is to tell ghost Lucas to be nice to his sister. 🙂
Hugs to you and yours, dear friend.
Thank you. Just this morning I realized my Jeffie has now been gone for 5 months. I’ve promised myself to write about the loss, yet just have not been able to do it. This morning, when I realized how long it’s been I thought it’s been too long. What I’d planned to write is not longer relevant. Which just goes to show I’ve fallen into society’s trap about grief and how long is “appropriate.” So, thank you for a gentle reminder and for sharing.
I’ll keep an eye out, Sue, if you do plan to write about your experience and sweet Jeffie. Sometimes I think there’s tremendous value in waiting until something feels “right” even if it’s a totally arbitrary point. Whatever was relevant when you first thought about writing has probably shifted, but when it’s time to write, you’ll know. And I’ll be there waiting to read.
Hugs to you, Sue.
I love your word vomit. You know my feelings on this. I am coming up on a year and have been working on my post and one of the things I am writing about is that for the first time, I am doing grief right. I let it have it’s way. I didn’t say ‘I should be better’ or ‘I thought i was past this part’. I just let it flow. For a control freak, that was not easy, but the grief struggle is so real, that adding struggle to it, is pointless. One other thing I have learned, the relationship does not end the moment death occurs. The relationship lives on and we have to find a way of taking it forward, in order for it to continue to grow. If I recall correctly, that was where I was at or around month five. Melvin was still so much a part of my day and I missed him so much, how could I have him be a part of me and be more joyful, less empty? Ugh, it is so hard. NEVER APOLOGIZE to yourself or anyone else, you are doing great!
You’re my spirit guide, and I’m so grateful our paths have crossed. Honestly, reading your posts about Melvin and now Jake have given me so much hope and inspiration, and I find joy everywhere now that I know to look. If that makes sense. Thank you for being you and inspiring so much in this community and so much in me.
Similar experience… last year I lost my cat and it took awhile before I “felt better”. However a few moths after I began to experience chest pains. Doctor’s first question was if I was stressed or experienced a loss or grief lately. We did an EKG which showed normal. He suggested that was the likely cause. Over the next few months the chest pains diminished then disappeared. I had no idea that mental pain can manifest itself into physical pain even after you feel you have “gotten over” the loss.
Wow. I’m so sorry that you had that experience and I’m so sorry for your loss, but I appreciate you sharing it here. You always read about the body/mind connection, but it’s such a vague concept… until you experience it firsthand. I truly hope you’re feeling better. Take care of yourself.
Almost four years ago, I lost my Grandfather who was the most important person in my life. Last September, we lost our boxer. Tully was just five years old but developed cancer. The grief from both have been poignant and inescapable. I have never wished to “be young again” or to “go back” or relive moments in my life but I do wish that I could experience life without having had that kind of loss. Once you experience it, life feels completely different. This post helps me. I read it when I’m at a low point: https://www.reddit.com/r/Assistance/comments/hax0t/my_friend_just_died_i_dont_know_what_to_do/c1u0rx2
Kat, I’m so sorry for your losses and for sharing your experience. That post you shared is remarkable. So beautiful. It’s left me in tears and is something I will return to again and again. Thank you so much for taking the time to post and share.
It’s so hard. I don’t remember when I really started to feel … can’t say “better”, how about “less weighed down” after our Abby died, but I definitely remember that I was still grieving pretty hard 8 months after. (I remember I stopped writing for 8 months for sure – well, except for the blog…) And then the one year anniversary was also *really* hard. I feel like after that it got to be more where I was remembering her with smiles rather than tears. But it is so hard because most folks aren’t up for talking about your grief and how your doing MONTHS after the death of your dog. It helps to have friends who get it. It does sound like you have gotten some signs to be gentle with yourself! Your plate sounds overly full at the moment! Maybe you can carve out some time to just totally chill. Hang in there!
Thanks, Jackie. Truly. Your posts were such an immense help when we were going through it all with Lucas. You have no idea how grateful we were for those to reference. If I didn’t say it then: Thank you. And you’re so right about friends who get it. How lucky are we that we have this incredible, brilliant, compassionate community of animal lovers?! Thank you for that reminder!
I have had this conversation with SO many people, just recently with Sampson’s physical therapist. The thing with grief is that it never really goes away, it is always something you have with you. Yes, as time moves on we may think of it less and less, but then there will be something that brings us right back to it. For the person not living the grief, we sympathize with our friend/relative but after a few days, it is easier for the non-griever to move on, forgetting that our friend/loved one is still grieving.
I want to share something with you. The clinic I take Sampson to for his Physical Therapy has a support group for grieving pet parents. (I’m texting you a picture of it.) Maybe you could check around and see if there is something similar where you are. If not, I know you are super busy, but maybe formulating a group of your home might be helpful.
Sending you a gigantic hug.
I remember after our beagle Kobi died, 6 months later being in a deep depression. I wondered “what is wrong with me?” and on some level just didn’t even realize I was still grieving. I still sometimes grieve over our Lab mix Maggie who we lost almost 12 years ago. Because no matter what else happens in life, no matter how much times goes by, that pet we loved, that family member, is still GONE.
I remember many times longing for a sign…any sign….a glimpse of them, a dream, a feeling of a touch, something….so I totally get that. Sometimes we get the signs, but not always.
Take care of yourself; because no matter how hard you work to make it go away, it won’t. Take a day and just lie in bed or on the couch, and cry. I often find the tears don’t come when we want them to though, they want to come at inopportune times like when you’re at work or something. But it sometimes helps me to just give in and take that time to feel really sorry for myself. We all deserve that.
Yeah, what is with that?! I find myself starting to cry when I’m, I don’t know, at the grocery store or in the car. Not when I’m at home alone with amply crying time! Sheesh!
Thank you so much for sharing your experience. I followed along when you lost Kobi, and I’m so grateful for you sharing your experience. It is so hard. Hugs, friend.
I’ve had 7 dogs and 4 cats die since I’ve been an adult. All my grandparents and my parents and 2 sons. I’m not even That old! Grief takes whatever time it needs and whatever form it needs and I feel I can say that with confidence. Here’s the thing though, you just never know how it’s going to feel. It just feels. I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about my losses, life is too full for that really and then something will “feel” and I’ll cry or sleep or something… I’ve learned to let it be and just grieve. We will always love our families here or absent and you are doing it exactly right.
I’m so sorry for all your losses, Becky. Your insights are so spot on, and I’m so grateful you took the time to share. Thank you so much.
I am unable to have children and so our dog, Selma, was our whole world. She was a spitfire of a girl and a beauty of a German shepherd. She passed almost a year ago (at 12.5 yrs) and it’s still incredibly difficult. I’m still crying pretty frequently. All the milestones that come around, I count. It’s been X months, this is the first (holiday) without her, etc. I has started to get easier, but it has been the most profound loss of my life, I think, including my father and grandmother. She was an “only dog” and we are getting another dog soon. It will probably be right around a year since her passing before our new dog comes home. It feels in a way like a betrayal, even though I absolutely know that’s not the case. I miss the clicking of nails on the floor and that nudge to be petted. I don’t miss the dog hair, but that’s the least of the things they give us. I hope your loss becomes easier and don’t let anyone minimize it. It’s tough, but we’re tougher.
Oh, Jen. I’m so sorry for the loss of beautiful Selma. It’s so difficult, definitely with the milestones passing by.
I totally understand the feeling of a new dog feeling like a betrayal, but I also know that my relationship with each of my dogs is special and unique to just him and me. My relationship with Lucas was totally different than the one I have with Emmett and Cooper. I think of a new dog as not taking Lucas’ place but rather starting an entirely new relationship. That hole in my heart will always be there; a new relationship with another dog would just create a new space in my heart. I don’t know if that makes sense…
Thinking of you. Please do share your journey!
I am a little late to this “party” in commenting but I wrote a blog post about a year ago after a Twitter friend shared how devastated she was at the loss of her heart horse. I never met her as she lives in the UK and I’m in CA, but I knew exactly what she meant and so I wrote a post about when I had lost my heart horse several years earlier. I have since noticed some search terms like “grieving for a horse” referring people to my blog. It’s always helpful knowing we’re not alone and that these animals aren’t “just a dog” or horse or cat. Thank you for being vulnerable. Sharing your struggles/journey will help others.
http://susanfriedlandsmith.com/2015/01/26/how-to-grieve-the-loss-of-a-horse-in-10-not-so-easy-steps/
Susan, thank you so much for sharing your experience and the link to your post. I’ve bookmarked it to refer back to. I can’t even tell you how much your suggestion to write a eulogy touched me. As I writer, you’d think that would’ve occurred to me! I think that’s something I’m going to do this weekend. Thank you so much, and I’m so glad we’re finally connected.
I know this feeling all too well. My Moxie died 4 years ago, and I still cry about it sometimes. I will never stop missing her, she was such an important part of our family.
I’m so sorry for your loss. You’re right. The missing never stops. <3
Just stumbled across your blog, read this post, cried my eyes out and am signing up for more of your wonderful writing. Thank you for being so candid! I have a Keeshond puppy (Coda) now, my second Kees. After my Tasha died years ago I couldn’t seem to “get over” her death and it was and still is scary to “try again”. I sometimes still grieve Tasha, when I look at Coda and she does something similar it reminds me how much love there is in my heart and how knocked out I can get over any little thing regarding their life and happiness. Poor Coda keeps comforting me even now because I cried reading your post and she’s confused about what’s wrong with me but wants to fix it, whatever it is, which of course makes me cry more! Even though their loss inevitably crushes our very souls, I wouldn’t want one more day on this earth without a dog. Thanks for this post and for making it a bit more okay to grieve for however long it lingers. I need to go comfort Coda now and let her know I’m okay….hahaha. 🙂
Hi Maggie: I just read your post, and am catching up on your website. I think writing about the grief you feel helps a lot. When I wrote about Hector’s death (my Labrador) I said I felt I was going to die, too, that day it hurt so much. I had Hector euthanized when he couldn’t stand up any more. Putting him down at twelve helped him and destroyed me. All the dogs since didn’t replace him and never will. I am British, and we are supposed to be stoic and the display of emotions are just not “done”,. My husband, also British, went to seven nurseries to find the perfect bush to plant in our yard as a remembrance. That was his way of grieving. I was glad to be living in the U.S where I could bend over with grief and not be required to keep my composure at all times. I’m sorry you lost Lucas. Now you have concerns about beautiful Em. God bless Coop for his helping paw. You make others feel which is a gift.
I lost my TC (cat) last July. He had cancer and was already 15 years old when he was diagnosed so we did not put him through chemo. We let him go to the bridge He was not himself and we did not want to see him suffer, so we gave him to God. I still think he stops by once and awhile, I still cry. Grief is a personal thing everyone moves through it in a different way. Bless you Maggie. Lucas will always be with you in spirit.