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 the vet followed by a trip to the woods where George could rest forever next to his buddy Oscar.
Of course I cried. But not nearly as much as expected, and hardly at all when my friend Rebecca and I buried him. It felt unreal: I kept saying "okay" almost compulsively, as if that word was a magic spell keeping me moving. It worked.
Returning home was fine, puttering around the house, same. When I put on Mac's harness for a walk, that's when I broke down. Only for a minute because Mac started shaking. So I pulled myself together, then we went on a walk. Because the sun was out, and dogs need walks.
The next day, leaving Mac alone was unexpectedly difficult. Mac was totally fine until I started crying, so he started shaking again. At this point I was honestly tempted to call in sick. But, it was my day to close, and we'd have to leave him alone for the day eventually, so I went to work. Of course I went to work.
My first really surprising response came when a well-meaning co-worker asked how George was doing. Instead of calmly and gently explaining we had to put him down the day before, I blurted "Oh, he's dead!" a little too loudly. Like it was nothing. Her face looked exactly how you'd expect, so I backtracked and gave the socially acceptable response. She offered me a hug, and I refused on the basis that I didn't want to cry at work. I was really afraid of not crying, not feeling anything. Because I was numb.
This is about the time ya'll are thinking "denial" stage. Sure, I get it. But it didn't feel like disbelief, it felt like nothing and everything all at once. It was blank and cold.
On Friday, every time I started to laugh it turned into crying. This got embarrassing. A co-worker saw me chuckling and, by the time they came over to ask what was keeping me in stitches, found a tearful mess. Yay... At least the random tears were quick to clear up.
Getting into bed three days later, I patted Mac and asked brightly "How're you doin' bud?" then burst into tears. A lot of tears. Mac was freaked out again, but thankfully didn't start shaking. This time, he just gave Nic one of his "I don't know how we deal with this, dad" looks. At least Mac's doing a little better.
Speaking of, how is Nic? Honestly, other than occasionally thinking "Where's George?" when entering a room, Nic seems fine. But he's been supporting me and Mac, I can see how that would distract from his own feelings for now. He's been a major part of George's family for half the little guy's life, that's a big deal.
Since last Tuesday I've been sad and occasionally angry. Mostly sad. Last week felt like it lasted a year. The three of us have been going to bed super early. Some of us aren't sleeping very well, while others are crashing for hours at a time. At least this part isn't surprising. Grief is heavy and grief is slow. Grief takes time.
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 the vet followed by a trip to the woods where George could rest forever next to his buddy Oscar.
Of course I cried. But not nearly as much as expected, and hardly at all when my friend Rebecca and I buried him. It felt unreal: I kept saying "okay" almost compulsively, as if that word was a magic spell keeping me moving. It worked.
Returning home was fine, puttering around the house, same. When I put on Mac's harness for a walk, that's when I broke down. Only for a minute because Mac started shaking. So I pulled myself together, then we went on a walk. Because the sun was out, and dogs need walks.
The next day, leaving Mac alone was unexpectedly difficult. Mac was totally fine until I started crying, so he started shaking again. At this point I was honestly tempted to call in sick. But, it was my day to close, and we'd have to leave him alone for the day eventually, so I went to work. Of course I went to work.
My first really surprising response came when a well-meaning co-worker asked how George was doing. Instead of calmly and gently explaining we had to put him down the day before, I blurted "Oh, he's dead!" a little too loudly. Like it was nothing. Her face looked exactly how you'd expect, so I backtracked and gave the socially acceptable response. She offered me a hug, and I refused on the basis that I didn't want to cry at work. I was really afraid of not crying, not feeling anything. Because I was numb.
This is about the time ya'll are thinking "denial" stage. Sure, I get it. But it didn't feel like disbelief, it felt like nothing and everything all at once. It was blank and cold.
On Friday, every time I started to laugh it turned into crying. This got embarrassing. A co-worker saw me chuckling and, by the time they came over to ask what was keeping me in stitches, found a tearful mess. Yay... At least the random tears were quick to clear up.
Getting into bed three days later, I patted Mac and asked brightly "How're you doin' bud?" then burst into tears. A lot of tears. Mac was freaked out again, but thankfully didn't start shaking. This time, he just gave Nic one of his "I don't know how we deal with this, dad" looks. At least Mac's doing a little better.
Speaking of, how is Nic? Honestly, other than occasionally thinking "Where's George?" when entering a room, Nic seems fine. But he's been supporting me and Mac, I can see how that would distract from his own feelings for now. He's been a major part of George's family for half the little guy's life, that's a big deal.
Since last Tuesday I've been sad and occasionally angry. Mostly sad. Last week felt like it lasted a year. The three of us have been going to bed super early. Some of us aren't sleeping very well, while others are crashing for hours at a time. At least this part isn't surprising. Grief is heavy and grief is slow. Grief takes time.
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