Grief

When my two year old golden retriever died very unexpectedly at home Thursday evening, I was stunned. I was shocked. I was in total disbelief. 

A friend came over and gently wrapped Jett’s body in a blanket. I looked at him, and expected him to look up at me, or to wag his tail, or to do something. I was in disbelief.

I had a few tears in my eyes, but I held myself together until I went to bed that evening. And then the tears started, but I wasn’t sobbing, and I wasn’t crying very hard. I think I was numb, and some gentle tears were all I could manage. Since then, I have cried more gentle tears a few times as I went through my days in a fog. 

I was in such a fog that I cut up my credit card by mistake, thinking it was my old debit card that had just been replaced. I forgot to take my prescription eyedrops, which I have used twice every day for several years. I don’t remember things. I forget what day of the week it is. And now, I find that the smallest things make me cry.

My other dog, a three year old mixed breed named Jenny, loved Jett from the moment she met him. They had so much fun together, wrestling and chasing each other through the backyard. I laughed when he ran behind a large hedge, emerging through the hedge to resume his race around the yard. 

I often called him doofus, because of his silly antics. I know Jenny misses her buddy, because she has been growling and staring at my front door much of today. She used to growl when Jett would walk down the hallway from my bedroom to the living room. I don’t know why she growled, and she wasn’t aggressive. But her behavior today makes me think he is here, and only Jenny can see him. I friend, who made it possible for me to rescue Jett from a life of neglect, told me that "Of course Jett is there in your house." That was his home. I may not have shed a lot of tears so far, but I had to hurry to the bathroom last night to throw up.

Jett is the 15th dog I have adopted, and the only one to die so unexpectedly and so young.

I realized a couple of things in the two days since Jett died. The first I already knew, and that is the importance of having good photographs of my dogs. I am an avid hobby photographer, so I take a lot of pictures. Those are so meaningful when one of my dogs dies. I’m lucky to have a really nice headshot of Jett, which I will have printed. 

The other thing I realized is that grief takes a variety of forms and intensities. Grief can be like a volcano, loud and explosive. Or it can be like smoldering embers, just waiting to catch fire. My grief is the latter.

Grief also moves at different speeds. My grief at losing Jett did not take the form of overwhelming tears and sadness. Instead, it is there, just below the surface, eating at me. I know the tears will really flow when I retrieve his ashes and when I place his remains with the cedar boxes and other containers that hold the remains of other dogs who have left me. 

How I wish our dogs had longer lives. 

So no matter the age of your dog, make sure he or she has a wonderful life filled with love. We never know when they will be snatched from us without warning.