Tag Archives: loss

Moving through Grief

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Moving through Grief

Moving through grief. What does this even mean?

As a therapist in training I ran a small grief group. The weekly meetings across ten weeks were meaningful and significant — for the participants. Not to say those meetings were not important to me — I was learning, I was training, I was in the work. Yet, I was not in grief. For me, I understood and yet I did not understand at all what people were feeling. I could be present, empathize, hold space and contain feelings — but I could not move through grief that was not my own.

I realize this now as I have been experiencing a significant season of grief. I lost my Scottish Terrier on Thursday, February 4th 2021 around noon. Even eleven weeks later – notice how I still count the weeks from that week – I still mark the days of that week by how my Pepper walked through his final days and how I walked alongside him.

To say it has been a mysterious time is an understatement. I suppose my unique journey of moving through grief has been largely to dwell in the mystery and to go slow with myself feeling what I feel in the moment. Over this period of time I would often break out into tears as I listened to a song, saw him in my memory in all of his favorite places, felt robbed that he was gone so young and so fast. I didn’t bottle it up — all of my tears – instead I have let them flow.

Moving through grief has been marking his passing in significant ways — framing his paw print with a friend’s little memorial drawing of the letter “P” for his name — taking his hair clipping and making a piece of memorial jewelry that I wear close to my heart each day – creating a plan to scatter his ashes in his favorite place – being open to talking with him on a regular basis. I have my most favorite picture of him on my vanity table and I sit each morning there putting on my makeup and tell him about my day. Sometimes I light a Glassy Baby candle that captures my feeling toward him for that day — like Honor, Thank You, and To The Moon.

For a long time I was quiet. I was able to thank people through handwritten notes for their kindness of holding me in their thoughts, but for a long while I could not speak to anyone. Nor did I want to. I wanted to be quiet and hold him all to myself. These days I find I am having people over to my home and I show them where Bubby died and I can talk about how painful this season has been for me. I am finding my words. Also, I am learning that there are friends who will hold space for my pain and be present to me.

On some level, I hate to see the weeks roll on by. It adds up to more days without Pepper. He surely would have loved the sunshine and warm temperatures. He ruled his corner of the world and would be out all day long keeping guard over the neighborhood. He loved his walks — rain or shine — and always was up to play tug. The days keep moving forward and there is nothing I can do to stop time. I can only continue to hold close to myself and my memories as I move forward.

I love Maira Kalman and she has a book titled Beloved Dog that looks at dogs through her own whimsical lens. She had a dog whom she loved and lost, but in this book she also talks about losing her husband and she wrote something profound on a page that continues to stay with me during this period:

When Tibor died, the world came to an end. And the world did not come to an end. That is something to learn.

Indeed, I have so much to learn moving through grief.

Losing A Beloved Pet

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Losing a Beloved Pet

Losing a beloved pet.

The idea has always felt so far away to me — until one week ago when I lost my beloved pet,

Pepper was a spunky, courageous, forward-looking pet who lived and moved with purpose. He was also a dog who allowed me to own him — which is often the case with a Scottish Terrier. The Scottie dog is about having an independent life even as he shares his life with you. I had them all my life as I grew up and I guess it was always my fate to have a wee lad as an adult.

Pepper hailed from Utah — one of five in a litter that summer of 2010 — he was the last of the litter to be taken from the breeder at 14 weeks old, which is kind of late to get a puppy. Yet, when I called I wanted a brindle Scottie dog that was 14 weeks old and I told the breeder his name would be Pepper. She said his Grandma and Mom were named Piper and Poppy — this dog is yours.

And was he ever. We were independent of one another and yet completely in sync. For the first five years of Pepper’s life, I walked him four times per day. We would walk and walk and walk. From there, we moved and he had a small urban oasis backyard where he ruled the corner of our neighborhood. Nothing got past him – and he always was chasing squirrels and looking for kitty cats. At night, he came inside and took his place on his window bench and would rule the other end of the corner keeping guard nightly.

When the time came, I lost Pepper quickly. Apparently he had cancerous tumor in his spleen that was causing him to bleed into his abdomen. This went on for quite awhile and we thought these were gastro episodes as he always had a weak constitution, most likely he was the runt of his litter. After treating him with some pain meds, he would be back to himself in a day.

Until the day came last week when the pain was not taken away no matter how much pain meds we gave to him. I always knew I did not want Pepper to suffer and would let him go before that truly took hold of his entire being. And so the hospice vet came in and we euthanized him in our home in his favorite spot. There was no real ceremony — I know many people make a loving plan. For us, it was just apparent that morning and we needed to help him out of his pain as quickly as possible.

And so I ended up holding him close to me as I said all the favorite phrases he loved and then laid him down and I saw his beautiful brown eyes sweep his corner one last time — and then he was gone. Just like that.

I am a childless woman and I suppose that makes me – like many others – turn to my pets to take on the role of children in my life. With our pets, they are only with us for a short amount of years and Pepper was no exception taking his leave at the age of 10. However, for me he was 2 forever. In this way Pepper’s loss feels like the loss of my second child. He was mine and I was his — all the years.

When I first met Pepper at the Salt Lake City airport, I looked at him in my arms and said to him, “You are going to break my heart.” And he did. But that day one week ago, I know my broken heart was so worth it. We had such a fun ride together. I really wouldn’t trade it for the world. I wouldn’t trade it for not feeling the pain I feel today.

Now is the time for grief, for remembering, for hurting, for being with myself and extending compassion to myself. I know he had an amazing life and I still have regrets. I have a new puppy, who came in before Pepper departed, and I wonder is my love for him taking away from my fidelity to Pepper? This is the complexity of grief. In time, I will sort it out and come out the other side.

For now, I remember and love on my Pepper.

Grief in the Social Media Era

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Modern Day Grief

Thinking about grief over the death of a loved on, a loss of a job, a loss of a pet, and/or any other types of losses that we grieve throughout our life. And then I thought about how social media plays a role in our grieving today.

One of the first things I have noticed in this day and age is how often I hear death news via social media, particularly Facebook. I will simply be scrolling down my feed and will see that someone has died or a friend’s pet has died or someone has been given a terrible diagnosis or someone has lost his job — right there in a status update is often the most devastating news.

The second thing I notice is all of the people adding comments of sympathy, empathy, shared experiences, expressions of hope and faith, and more. Sometimes it is a tsunami of instant balm for a deep grief. Something about the “instant” and the “deep” do not seem to mesh for me, even though this is how we seem to get our news and respond these days.

There was one instance where a grade school friend of mine died very unexpectedly in a car crash headed to book group one night. This was years ago and so my friend had been in her mid-thirties and left several young children. I found the news out by her eldest child, who was around 7 years old, posting that he had lost his mommy and would now be handling her page. Wow! I was bowled over by this shocking news and felt overwhelmed for this little boy and her entire family.

Leaving a comment did not seem “right,” however, the only way I was connected to this person was through Facebook, so I posted a condolence message. I was grateful to have the news, and yet saddened that what I posted really could not convey the depth of my feelings.

It feels like grief in the era of social media has put us into some binds – ones that are often tough to navigate. As mentioned earlier, the depth of grief over such losses is often met with instant support that may come off as flippant given someone may have just found out about the loss while scrolling on their lunch break and feels like she has to say something kind before pushing on to the next update.

One thought is to wait a little while before commenting to compose what you want to say and then say it in a private message, email, or handwritten note and/or card. It may not be an instant offer of support, but taking your time to be present to your own emotions as well as to the one experiencing her grief is precious.

If you feel you need to comment, you could always write something that says something sympathetic and then an additional comment about how you will be reaching out to them in the future.

Although we live in an era of instant communication, grief is not instant. Remembering this and recognizing what we would want during our own times of pain and grief can help us better navigate learning devastating news while scrolling through our daily news feed.