Doggone grief, part 2: things I didn't know about grieving until I lost my dog
We had time. Time to be upset when he was diagnosed, time to be sad with him while he was sick, time to say goodbye. There was this moment in November when I realized I'd been low-key sad since spring, not depressed, but glum. It took all of five minutes to figure out that timeline. We learned George was sick just before Easter. Of course I've been sad. Even after all that time, I expected to fall apart when he actually had to go. To be unable to stop crying and need to call in sick for a day or two. Based on other periods of grief (grandparents dying, my marriage ending), I figured I knew how this would go down. After all, George was the one constant when everything changed in my life, then changed again, and again. My fuzzy little buddy. But none of that happened. My random Tuesday without work had been planned in advance for a different reason, but when we realized over the weekend things were getting too painful, the day was waiting. It seemed ready-made for a visit to