the art of loss

Let me start by being very clear:  I am not much of a 'feelings' girl.

I'm not a cryer, in fact if you know me well, you will know that there are few things I dislike more than crying in front of people.  It's not that I want to seem stoic, or hardened.  It's simply not 'me'.  I don't like the way crying makes me feel, nor do I think it helps me cope.  It simply makes me feel uncomfortable and out of control of my emotions.

But, the last week or so, I've been having daily bouts with the feels.

We lost our dog.

Actually we didn't lose her at all, and I kind of hate that term.  We knew where she was all along.  She was with us, visiting vet after vet...getting sicker and sicker, with seemingly no idea what was wrong with her.  Until the vets had a theory...but no answer.  So we did the kindest thing we could do.  We had her euthanized.

It has been so damned hard.

Putting the dog down was awful.  I was a blubbering mess.  I was in it deeper with the feels than I have been in years.  But equally as bad (or maybe worse) was having to come home and tell my 8 and 11 year old that we had to put the dog to 'sleep'.  They not only lost a dog, but a best friend.  They lost the soul who would listen to their childhood complaints without rebuttal, who would lay with them when they were sick and help them feel better, who calmed their fears, and who was their ever present companion on the crazy rollercoaster called childhood.

And loss is something that's not easy to deal with when you are a child (heck, its not easy as an adult either).  Watching them grieve has reminded me of the five stages of grief.

1. denial
2. anger
3. bargaining
4. depression
5. acceptance

The loss didn't seem to hit my 8 year old right away, but a couple of days later it hit him like a semi-truck.  We had just come home from a long day.  My son was upset and tired and needed comfort...in the form of his dog.  The reality set in that she wasn't there to hold and cuddle hit him so hard.  The result involved much wailing and crying.  And much denial.  He insisted (through sobs that I'm surprised didn't result in a visit from CPS) that our dog was coming back.  That he would wake up in the morning and she would be there.   At first my husband and I tried to reason with him.  This just resulted in more tears.  We tried to divert his attention.  This just made him even more mad.

Things were spiraling out of control quickly.

His tears had eventually started my daughter crying...and I was on the verge as well.  This had been going on for close to 45 minutes and I saw no end in sight.  Eventually I lost it as well and all the tears that I'd been holding back while I watched him cry started to stream down my cheeks.

Through my tears all I could say was: "I know buddy, I miss her too.  I hope she comes back tomorrow too."

*Obviously I know she's not coming back, but that doesn't help me from wanting it in the moment.*

That was it.  That was what I needed to say all along.  Just the reminder that he wasn't in it all alone was enough to help my son crawl out of that dark hole and start calming down.  Having his feelings validated was what he needed.  He didn't need me to try to solve the problem (not that I could have anyhow), he just needed to know that he wasn't in it alone.

Eventually the tears stopped that night (from me included), and I was left with the reminder that kids are going through the same process we are.  That night my son was smack dab in the middle of the denial stage.  I had been there at some point too.  These stages of grief manifest differently on different people.

We are all there...trying to climb out of the same dark hole.

RIP Pepper Potts