11/02/2025
Anticipatory grief is its own kind of heartbreak.
When I was losing my dog Harlen — my soul dog, the one I brought home at 6 weeks old and grew up with through my entire 20’s — the world felt heavy.
He was my guardian angel, my companion, my constant. My biggest love. 13.5 years 🙏🏼
In those final months, the fear was unbearable.
I worried endlessly about his comfort, his pain, his peace.
I worried that my tears would make him think something was wrong.
Every day I kissed him, cried into his fur, and silently begged time to slow down.
I was terrified of the moment I’d have to say goodbye.
And then… it came.
And to my surprise, it wasn’t chaos or fear — it was peace.
Warm, quiet, sacred peace.
His passing felt like a long, trembling exhale.
A soft release into love.
Would I do anything differently?
Maybe I would try to cry less, hold fear less tightly, breathe a little deeper.
But grief doesn’t follow rules — especially anticipatory grief.
It rises and falls as it needs to.
And sometimes, the hardest part isn’t the moment they leave…
it’s the waiting, the loving, the knowing.
Letting him go taught me something sacred:
we don’t have to brace for grief —
we can meet it with love, and let each moment happen gently, just as it comes.
On his death day he rolled in the grass at the lake one last time. He enjoyed the sun.
My intuition told me to bring rose quartz, so I did.
Harlen’s collar hangs in the rear view mirror of our van. He sits with us, front seat. Every bump or pot hole- his collar rings and clangs. “Hi Harlen.”
This is how we keep those we love, alive.
