09/09/2025
The grief settles into my bones more and more the longer they're gone. The shell-shocked "this isn't real" feeling fades and I'm left with the quiet house, Tully not beneath my feet when I'm standing up from the couch, Nori not getting her 20 thousandth step in as she gets stuck behind a box for the 14th time. They're not there to greet me when I return home. No more "biiiiig stretches." No more chaotic (but adorable) hops and hitched runs down the long hallway because they're excited tor breakfast. My mind plays tricks at night. Was that the click-clack of a dog who got up from her bed? Oh yeah, they're no longer here. I have to re-break my own heart each time I remember. How do you come to terms with something you know was so needed but that you planned? You have to constantly remind yourself that you did it this way so that it could be as peaceful and loving as they deserved it to be. That their last moments on earth would be full of love and intentionality, instead of pain, fear, and distress. But you always grapple with the "is it too soon?" fear.
When you've gotten used to having a little loyal being by your side for 15 years, how do you shake the feeling that something is missing? Maybe you don't. Maybe you just allow yourself to go numb, starting to go through life and experiencing it without your shadow for the first time in 15 years. Going to bed without standing outside, waiting for them to p*e. Taking your first flight to and from Michigan, because you no longer have to drive 25 hours so you can bring the dogs. Thinking about travel again without the worry of how they'll do without you. Going numb is easier and more digestible than living in the mix of feelings of grief, sadness, relief, and guilt that you can't quite come to terms with. Life goes on around you. You have moments of joy, laughter, and work and life stress, and underneath it all is the painstaking grief.
(Continued in comments)
