Good Grief

Nelda, Patty and I got to talking about grief while we were sipping our smoothies at Snow City Cafe this morning. Patty's dog Abbey is 12 -- pretty old for a Great Dane -- and she had a spell last week. Patty said she was in a panic, just to think she might die. Both Nelda and I grieved the loss of our pets in the last couple of years. Two years ago this month, my dog/friend Snoopy died and last fall, it was Nelda's black tuxedo cat Bill. Snoop died in the morning, and I took the rest of the day off work. I didn't cry much; we visited the reindeer farm, and Eagle River wetlands, and Eklutna Lake, driving around for most of the day. When Bill died, Nelda and I drank an expensive bottle of wine to celebrate his life. And we agreed that death sucks! And life goes on.

Grief seems so much more common to me right now, maybe because I'm at the age where loss becomes a part of life. In the past two years, Snoopy, my Dad, my niece Raenna, my friend Grace, all died. My Mom disappeared into the fog of dementia. We packed our family history into cardboard boxes and sold the house. My four girlfriends at work all quit in one week. Two bosses moved on to new jobs. So many losses. So many changes. Was life always like this and I didn't notice?

I've learned I can adjust to loss and grief. It no longer seems like the 'spike through the heart' event I once thought it was. It can become more 'normal,' more like a strong current, deep in the river of life, pulling us all past the glittering shore. It roots us in the reality, and necessity, of change. It doesn't drag me down, but it does hold me firm to my core beliefs. And when I least expect, it stirs up old roots, and leaves and silt that remind me of the moments, the looks, the warm touch, of those who have sailed on ahead. And I cry in those moments -- not for days, or even hours, but just for a few minutes. There is less drama than I might expect, but I'm surprised to learn, it doesn't pass. Grief stays with us, maybe forever, I guess, like invisible threads that tie us to our past.