It’s been nearly a year since I said goodbye to my sweet, Payton. After a decade together, which was not nearly enough time, my sweet baby boy was called to cross the rainbow bridge.
Due to an unexpected rupture of a cancer tumor in his spleen (I had no idea about), my world turned inside out in the matter of 24 hours. Without any warning, the cancer began to metastasize quickly, and I was faced with the awful, and debilitating, decision that it was time to let him go.
His vet told me that his chances of survival through the night would be slim, and even if he did manage to make it through, it would only be after several blood transfusions. And, anything we did would be just to prolong his life for me, as he was suffering deeply.
Now, I have had dogs growing up, and always felt a deep bond with each one. Payton was different. He was my soul dog, and he was my baby boy, my first child … well, my everything.
Letting him go was the absolute hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. And, navigating my grief over the past 11 months has been even harder.
I have experienced quite a bit of grief throughout my lifetime, including cutting my dad out from my life at the age of 22, and then processing his death 13 years ago, to losing my favorite uncle and being his caretaker for 11 days by his bedside as he transitioned, to mourning friends who have taken their own lives or have been victims of senseless accidents.
Yet, none of those compare to the grief I felt, and still feel, regarding my beloved Payton. It’s been excruciating at times, and beautiful.
Inside all of it, I find grief to be painful, fascinating, and deeply humbling. For, it truly is not linear or logical in how it moves.
One of the biggest and most profound insights I have gleaned during this journey in navigating my grief, is this:
The magnitude of grief does not change over time, that itself does not lesson. It is simply the spaces in between the grief, the waves, that widen and spread out, thus making the grief feel like it lessons over time.
For when a wave hits, it still can take me out. As if I am reliving that moment all over again. For instance, today is Payton’s birthday (or gotcha adoption day anniversary) and I find myself right back in the depths of the pain, the grief, the sadness.
The melancholy is real. And, I’ve been wallowing it in for most of the day.
I’ve cried a lot today. I slept through a good portion of the morning. And, I’ve been extremely gentle with myself, and my beloved Ernie (my new baby as of almost three months now) who is undergoing aggressive heartworm treatment at the moment. Grateful he is here with me.
I allowing myself this space and grace. As, that is the other thing I have realized about grief, especially in our conditioned culture:
We think and expect grief to have a timeline. We only allow people to grieve in the time we feel comfortable with (usually being … not much at all). And, grief, in and of itself, makes us very uncomfortable. We don’t know how to hold space for ourselves or others when it comes to allowing grief to breathe.
Because that is all grief is asking for: to be given breath so that it can fully be expressed, and be seen. She wants to know that it’s ok to feel, to cry, to hurt, to process, and to not feel whole.
She begs us to see her, nurture her, and love her … in all the good, bad, and ugly. She urges us to see her through the eyes of compassion.
She asks to be expressed, as she is the built up love that never got to pour out of us. It’s the love that never was shared or given as we thought we had more time. It’s the connection we still yearn for. She needs us to accept her, to understand that she represents our humanity, our hearts, and our soul.
Yet, we have been told repeatedly to “suck it up” or “rub some dirt on it” or “ok, you’ve grieved enough … now it’s time to get back to living and work.”
What we don’t realize is we are stifling grief’s need to be valued when we do that. Like anything that we try to supress, we end up with a dangerous pressure-cooker of energy that, at some point, needs to be released.
If we don’t honor grief and her waves when they pass, and instead choose to suppress her, we stuff down our emotions, and then, they begin to build up as stored energy within our bodies. That energy ricochets around and at some point, and somehow, needs to (and will) be released.
Because when we don’t, this is the birthplace often of our illnesses, depression, and rage. And, when they do get released it’s through projection and in unhealthy ways.
It’s this build up, where we didn’t allow ourselves the cathartic release we needed, that then creates this powerful latent energy that amplifies and gets to be too big, too much, too heavy … too everything.
And, then we explode and/or implode.
Trying to force grief into a logical box or linear path is just another way to stifle it’s natural flow. We try to punch it in its face, or silence her. Instead, we need have an opportunity to reevaluate and reassess how we view grief.
Rather than something we need to move through quickly, or shut down, perhaps it is part of our human story. That bridge that is here to connect us deeper together as a community, with empathy, love, and grace.
When a community comes together to hold the container to allow grief to flow, all then benefit from the bonds creating when we stand naked in that vulnerability and feel our emotions. We begin to recognize the humanity in each other, and that ultimately there is no separation.
We all bleed when we are cut. We all cry tears (even if only on the inside) when we hurt. We all ache to connect, even if we don’t want to admit it. We all seek to be seen when we are feeling lost. We all want to be valued.
And, we all have the capacity to love when we lean in.
Grief is a personal journey for each of us that looks different for every person, and for everything that causes us pain. There is no timeline, no rules, and no magical aha moment that makes it done.
It moves and glows, winding aimlessly at times, and comes and goes as it needs to. It rides various waves. Some will completely knock you out, while others will gently take you down the path of memory lane.
And, it’s a path that only you can navigate.
That being said, we can learn different skills to help hold containers and safe spaces for people to mourn. To stop shaming grief. To stop putting rules and guidelines on it. Instead, to offer kindness, compassion, empathy and grace. To simply be in what feels uncomfortable, and to just be love.
Because grief doesn’t work in the way we want it to.
She doesn’t fit neatly into a box. Grief is NOT linear. Grief has NO timeline. And, grief moves however she wants to.
Grief will either move as she needs to, within, around you, and through you. And, grief will comes in waves that pass … or, ones that take you out if you try to stuff it, silence it, punch it in the face, ignore it, or avoid it.
Again, grief simply wants to be seen. She wants to be heard, to be felt.
For me, I’ve learned the best thing I can do is to surrender.
Fully surrender.
Surrendering to my higher power. Surrendering to the beautiful journey, itself. Surrendering to the unknown inside all of it. Surrendering to the pain AND to the joy. Surrendering so that my heart and soul can heal.
Because, my heart … oh, my heart.
My heart whispers: “it’s still too soon.”