CFC Blog #125: For Those Who Have Grieved
I am very excited to share a piece from yet another sister of mine (I have three) ... turns out we all have a passion for writing. Originally, Christina's writing below was simply shared through a caption on her Instagram. But I thought it was so moving, as did many other responders, so I figured I should share with you all too :)
Last week, we had to put our beloved 16-year old family dog to sleep. I hadn't cried the way I did that night (and the next two days) in years.. perhaps because I think that a relationship with a pet is different than the bond formed with humans - it's a silent bond, but also so communicative in its own unique way. And it sure is incredibly difficult to let go of in the physical sense. I think Christina's piece did a wonderful job of encapsulating that idea. She also wanted her piece to shed light on the fact that everyone experiences and handles loss in their own way. Thank you for the heartwarming words, Christina.
- Amanda
For Those Who Have Grieved
I lost my grandma 6 years ago. My father 3 years ago today. My dog, who was truly my baby, and my best friend, this past week. And every time I’ve experienced the same sensation of actual, physical pain, as if something within me has been ripped away, an open wound that begs for healing.
“You get used to the life in your life.”
My mom said this, to herself mostly, under her breath as she walked in the wake of Sam’s absence. She probably didn’t even know I heard, let alone made a mental note to write it down later.
My mom has said a lot of things that have altered the way I view and navigate this world. This strange, strange world we live in. A world where life is so precious, so commonplace, and so quickly gone before us, all at once.
In the absence of familiar sounds I hear what’s missing. The creek of Sam’s cage when she’d stand up. The patter of her nails across the kitchen floor. The sound of my own voice, saying “Hi puppa! Hi little girl!” in a tone I know somehow only existed for her.
We become creatures of habit – our bodies responding to the way we know things to be before our minds have a chance to process what is. I notice my heart lift just by stepping into the kitchen where she used to sleep. Her name like a song on its way out of my belly just in walking towards the front door. My head turning and my eyes lighting to where she’d rest on the couch.
To break those habits means to accept what now is, and to let go of what was. And within that is sadness, grief, emptiness, resistance. A search for peace in a sea of uncertainty and tears that I think could run me dry.
We don’t want to let go because it begs the question of moving on, and if so are we distancing from those who brought us such love and joy in the moments we shared tangibly in this world.
But I’ve found that letting go of the way we know things to be allows for the possibility of experiencing beyond “being” - a word we often use to capture the present moment. In the unknowing of things is the possibility of something that transcends past present and future in which “being” is only a fraction of the depth.
Maybe, through memories, love, compassion, hope, we experience that for which there are no words.