Wednesday, April 19, 2023

Grief, every day

 My dad died 4 years ago (4 years next week, actually), and losing him was much worse than losing Beatrix. I liked my dad a lot, though, and I have raised a passel of kids along with our sweet dog. She was very clearly my dog and not my child (although who knows how I will feel about a future empty nest dog). Still, there are a couple of ways my Beatrix grief and my dad grief are alike.

First of all, it’s the quotidian reminders that level me— especially when I am not expecting them. When I am making a sandwich with deli meat, no one is there to catch an extra slice of turkey, for example. We had steak on Jack’s birthday, and I had no furry shadow hoping for scraps when I cleaned the table. The living room is silent in the morning when I sneak out to grab a coffee cup. No one is excited to see Minnie and me midday when we come home from the grocery store. When I open the front door in the morning to get fresh air and extra sunlight through the storm door or the screen, no one clicks her way across the hall to see what our neighbors are doing. No one barked at the recycling truck this morning.

To this day, the thing I miss the most about my dad (besides, of course, having another person on the planet who loves me all the time no matter what— which I also miss about Beatrix— and is no small thing as you get old and lose your parents and grandparents, etc) is calling him to shoot the breeze whenever the urge strikes me— in traffic, because I am bored at work, during nap, etc, and also answering the phone when he called to talk about nothing.

The second way this grief is familiar is its awful finality. Never again. Her soft fur. Her goofy smile with her underbite and pirate teeth. Her terrible smell. I miss all of these things every day, and unlike most other things I miss—people who live in other cities, places I love to visit, those really good bagel sandwiches I ate when I got my MA— this absence is permanent, and that’s just too awful to contemplate all at once. Instead, it’s an organizing principal for my everyday EVERY DAY, which is also terrible, but more of a bite—size terrible.

One other way my dog grief is bound up with my dad grief: my dad knew Beatrix, and losing her is another way we are farther away from a time when he was alive and part of our everyday as well. I know it is sappy and maudlin, but as I sobbed with her head in my lap after she collapsed last week, I reminded her about my dad and assured her he would be there waiting for her— wherever there is. 

All of this is to say, I really miss Beatrix, but it is not even close to the worse grief I have experienced, so I am doing OK, all things considered.

SPRING IN MADISON:



16 comments:

  1. Spring in Madison looks like spring in Calgary. I feel you, girl.
    And I feel you on the dog grief. It's of course a different kind of grief. I have not lost a parent, but I have lost people close to me, and the finality is very hard.

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  2. Oh, Sarah... I hear you and feel your sorrow.

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    1. as you well know, the decline of a beloved pet is terrible,

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  3. This was beautifully said, Sarah. I have not yet lost a parent, but I lost a dear friend and the grief becomes part of your cells. I'm so sorry about your father and about Beatrix and I hope it brings you some measure of peace to write about them here. I love knowing them through you.

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  4. I'm so sorry, Sarah - I've appreciated learning more about your Dad and Beatrix via the blog. They both seem like absolutely wonderful family members that showed unconditional love. Such treasured people leave gaping holes in our lives when they pass on. Sending love and virtual hugs <3

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  5. I'm so sorry that this is a hard time for you. I hope writing this was cathartic.

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  6. A friend of mine that lost her mom refers to those quotidian experiences as grief landmines. You never know when you are going to encounter one and they can completely and utterly level you.

    And that is totally what spring is like in MN... Bleh. We decided to schedule Paul's 5th bday part for April 30th. Fingers crossed the weather works out. I wanted to avoid May since it's so busy with graduations and mother's day and teacher appreciation, etc etc. Hopefully we don't have snow on 4/30! Our snow is all gone now, but you never know what could be heading our way!

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  7. Yes, yes, yes, to all of this. My mother in law died four years ago also, and they lived quite far away so it's easy to forget that she's gone, and then I think of something I want to tell her, or the kids do something that I know she'd be so proud of, or I hear something in her voice, and it levels me all over again. And then a couple of friends I've lost whose comments come up in my Facebook memories, and it's devastating and yet I'm glad to be able to remember how funny and wise they are. Big hugs to you.

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    1. yes, the pandemic made me feel like my dad was just as gone as everyone else, but of course that's not true.

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  8. The finality of death is what sucker punches me the most, and it's why I have so much anxiety about losing my mom someday. She is such a huge part of my life, and knowing there will one day be a time when I can't call her and talk to her feels insurmountable to think about.

    Grief is so hard. And it's not linear. And it usually doesn't make sense. I hope you're taking care of yourself during this time. <3

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