The Other Side of Grief

It has been a little over a week since Guinness crossed the Rainbow Bridge into Heaven.  To say it's been one of the worst weeks of my life is a vast and valid understatement.  My heart has not hurt like this since losing my father 10 years ago and my dear friend Judy nearly one and a half years ago.  But this hurt is a different kind of hurt.

If you've never loved an animal you probably cannot at all relate to this type of hurt.  Loving an animal encompasses all that is right and good in this world.  It is to love a creature whose mere purpose in life is to love you, unconditionally, every minute of every day.  It is to be greeted with a wagging tail and kisses when you are at your best as well as at your worst.  It is to have a willing witness to all of your joys and grief.  It is to love a creature that makes you a better person because you are entrusted with its care.  Guinness was more than "just a dog".  I know everyone thinks their dog is the greatest, smartest, cutest, etc. and that is because of the mutual love between pets and their owners.

Losing a pet is a shallow earthly pit of loneliness.  For me it is having to realize I no longer need to look where I am walking so as not to step on this loyal pet - or to put the foot part of the recliner down so as not to smash him.  It is to learn to pick up pieces of chopped food I accidentally tossed on the floor because Guinness isn't there to snatch it up.  It is learning to go to bed without doing the last time outside, or waking up to the first one in the morning.  It is about going to bed without carrying him and enjoying the kisses on the way.  It is about not having to be careful not to kick him off the bed when I am tossing and turning over some new worry I have.  It is about coming home and not calling out his name, or retrieving him from the closet, his favorite hideout.  It is not having to feed him in the morning, a task I never knew I'd miss so much.

While we quickly removed things that we knew would bring us endless sadness - his bowls, his bed, his blankets, his toys - I couldn't bring myself to wash one blanket that still kept his smell on it.  When I want to feel him near me I pick it up for a quick reminder of how much I loved him, as if I ever will need a reminder.  I have yet been able to begin work on a scrapbook of his life and how much happiness it gave us.  My days have been spent trying valiantly, and not successfully, to make it through one day without crying.  Family members and friends have been so supportive, especially those who have been privileged enough to own a pet and been witness and willing participants in unconditional love.  Some don't know what to say but a hug speaks volumes, even if it is a virtual one.   Some send messages, cards, "like" something I post on Facebook, and some have called.  I thank all of these people from the bottom of my heart.  In some way you have helped me in this journey called grief.

I write his not to elicit sympathy or empathy.  I write it to heal myself.  I write it to immortalize my love for one special little dog I had the privilege of being caretaker to.  I write it to help others who haven't had a pet to love.  I write to share with them the sheer joy of pet ownership and the sheer pain felt when the pet they love has taken its last breath.  I never want anyone to minimize the loss of a pet, and to know how much it hurts.  I also do not want to minimize a human being's passage, but this is a different loss.  People communicate their pain, while animals cannot.  They entrust us to be there for them, to help them when they are sick or dying.  This is what pet owners sign up for when they bring their pet to their "forever home".  It is a commitment of love and trust, both by the human and the animal.  It is a bond between two souls, a loyalty that some humans cannot even bring forward.

What sustains me now and gives me reason to wake up and face each day is the hope that soon I will get to the other side of this grief - the side that allows me to smile when I think of Guinness.  The side that encourages me to talk about his adorableness, his incredible personality, his human qualities, his ability to make non dog lovers actually like a dog, his tolerance of what a "helicopter mom" I was to him.  Guinness left this earth knowing he was loved. I know this.  How could he not?  Yes, we  pampered, coddled, spoiled, and entitled him.  But his love did the same for us.  Get me to that other side of grief sooner than later, Lord.  I want to be able to celebrate Guinness' life, not grieve for his passing.  I know he is taking over Heaven right now.  He is yapping, he can hear again, he is no longer suffering, and he has made his way to my Dad's lap on the softest recliner in Heaven.  Rest well, sweet little dog - my "Beeza", my Guin Guin, my Guinnie Poo, and all the other crazy names we bestowed upon you over your 14 wonderful years of loving us.