Grief

As summer begins to come to a close, I am reflecting on a life changing event that took place for me in July. My beloved Moose left his physical body behind and is free from any pain, suffering, or limitation. It was one of the most difficult things I have ever experienced and I continue to grieve every day. 

My clients know that I will often use the phrase "comparison is the number one killer of compassion" and I mean it. So, I will not compare my grief to another's grief after losing a person because in most people's eyes, I will "lose" in that comparison. The loss of a pet is different. The presence of a pet is 

different. What they represent and the gaps that they fill...it's different. In some ways, the every day awareness is harder than when I have lost friends or family members I didn't see often. My standard phrase lately as people ask me about my grief is "He is everywhere...and no where at the same time." It's true. There are reminders of him everywhere . His hairs (I don't think the house will ever truly be rid of dog hair and I am good with that!), the toys, his dishes, his collar, his bed, his leash...the list goes on and on. His favorite places to lay, the sounds he made, the way he smelled (good and bad!)...those are still everywhere in the house and certainly in my mind. They are fading though...and at times that scares me. I expect to see him greet me when I get up in the morning and when I come home from work. I expect him to barge into the bathroom as he always did just to make sure I was still there! I expect him to beg for my food and I have to tell you that I struggle every day with eating the last bite of anything. My last bite was always for him. This is incredibly difficult. 

My husband has heard me say hundreds of times already "I just miss him" and he gets it. He misses him too. Not in the same way I do...but in his own way. Moose was a presence. He was definitely unconditional love. He was funny and silly and although he was never a cuddly dog...he had the sweetest face ever. His eyes were truly a window into his soul and I would often stare into them at length. 

Before Moose died I wanted to memorize everything about him. I would stare at him and notice the little tufts of fur that stuck up on top of his head. I would rub the pads on his feet and notice where the rough patches were. He had a lot of cysts and I would often hold them by cupping my hands over them and pray that they were not hurting him and that if they were that they would shrink. I rubbed his ears all the time. I loved his ears. My husband used to joke that he was going to save his ears so we could forever pet them...but I quickly declined that offer! I didn't want a "part" of Moose...I wanted all of Moose. 

As we headed on vacation a week after Moose died, I took my grief with me. Our vacation spot was chosen with Moose in mind and for the past six years he enjoyed our trips tremendously. All the "firsts" on vacation without him were tough. There were lots of tears by all of us. And then...there were the signs! 

Over and over we had signs of his presence with us. We would see him in the clouds (sometimes so clear it was uncanny!) We would have butterflies hang out with us and one day a hummingbird just hovered right next to us as if to remind us "he is here!" We laughed about him, cried over his absence, and shared so much gratitude for all he added to our lives.

Why do I share all of this? Because I think it's important for people to know that everything I say to my clients, especially in this case my grief clients, I say to myself! Grief is a process and it is different for each of us. It doesn't matter what or whom we have lost...it's a process. The waves of emotion vary from feeling a bit misty eyed to crying from our gutt with ugly sounds, inability to breathe, pain in the abdomen, and a feeling like you might die yourself. Yes, I truly felt each of those things. 

I talked to Moose a lot that first week. I asked him to help me through this. I told him I didn't know how to do this life thing without him. I'm not ashamed to admit at one point I actually curled up in a ball in his bed and just cried. My heart was, and is, broken. 

I continue to grieve for Moose and I have to say it is getting a bit easier. The tears still come just about every time I pull into the driveway. I look at pictures and I cry. I continue to say "I just miss him" many, many times during the day. AND...at the same time...I do my work. What kind of work...my grief work. I remind myself that love comes at a cost and it is so worth that cost. We love hard...we grieve hard. I remind myself that this pain is horrible...and it is only horrible because the love was so great! I also remind myself that the emotions come in waves and the waves will pass. No one has ever cried forever. The tears will stop...temporarily...but they will stop. So, I feel the pain, I acknowledge it, I label it (missing Moose), and I know it will pass. I focus on whatever helps me in the moment, and then as the tears slow, I release them. I even thank them for reminding me of the special love I shared with him. 

This process is something I truly believe in. It is what I share with my clients daily. Just because I am a therapist who helps others through their grief...that does not in any way mean that I don't grieve! I certainly do...just like I struggle with many other issues that my clients struggle with as well. Therapists are people who sometimes need help and we reach out to our own therapists or colleagues who might fill that role from time to time and do our own work. 

My loss has inspired me in many ways. I hope to include all of this in my book and I also hope to use my experience to help others going forward. I am happy to help anyone facing the loss of a pet and can share what helped me as I approached the loss myself. We had scheduled a date to release Moose from his body, but he had a different plan. He decided the day before that was going to be the day. I truly think he wanted to spare us from all those "lasts" we would have experienced that Monday. We enjoyed our walk on that Sunday not knowing it would be our last. I think he wanted it that way. I also had a photographer coming to the house Monday to shoot a few pictures of us with Moose in the backyard before he died. He hated having his picture taken. I should have known that but my fear of not having enough pictures and really wanting to freeze that picture of our "complete" family took me over. The picture didn't happen the way I expected it to. It happened in my mind and in my heart. I think he wanted it that way. 

I feel my heart broke that day and it won't quite be the same ever again. Scar tissue will form over our broken hearts, but they may never feel quite the same. I remember hearing or reading something about grief and a wise person was talking with a grieving person. The grieving person said "I just don't know what to do with all this grief!" The wise person suggested they reframe that and see it another way. The grief is a result of Love that has no where to go. Love that was once directed at this person or animal and now the abundance of love has no where to go and that hurts. (Think of a mother whose breasts are ready to feed her new born...but her new born died. The milk is there...her body is ready to provide...but there is no one to receive the abundance. That hurts.) So,

this wise person suggested the grieving person change the statement to "I don't know what to do with all this Love!" And then...find somewhere to direct that love. It doesn't replace what or whom we have lost...that's not the intent. It just gives us another way to experience love...in the giving and in the receiving. I will love again. I will likely have another dog and will love that dog up just like I loved Moose up. No dog will ever replace Moose. Of course, my heart may be a bit hesitant to love again as it now knows when you love hard you hurt hard. But...the cost is so worth it. I will carry on. I will love again. 

Thanks Moose. You were the best dog ever. I love you and can only hope and believe that you are with me every minute of every day now. I run like you and I used to run together because the past few years you couldn't do it. I imagine you with me enjoying the run (and the bonus is I don't have to stop for you to sniff or pee!) You will help me be open to the next dog that will "find" me. I know you will. Thanks fella. You are the best. 

Peace,
Charleen 

p.s. I just proof read this and can barely read through my tears. Grief is real. Emotions happen. And that's okay.