05/07/2022
Grief… is hard. I want to post Chili’s story, but I can’t yet. I’m still grieving. Unapologetically. But I wouldn’t give away my grief.
I’ve experienced grief before. I’ve heard it described so many different ways: like a forest fire, a flood, a journey. I don’t think it’s like any of those things. Because they all have an end. Fires go out, floods subside, journeys conclude. Grief stays. It changes, but it stays. Grief is like a season. There are always seasons, they change, they differ, but there will always be another.
Losing Chili has hit me differently than any other loss. Maybe because 15 1/2 years together is a long time, maybe because he was there through everything (including the failures of many people, but dogs never fail that way), maybe it’s because our souls were in sync, maybe it’s something else. But I find myself clinging to something tangible. The first time I cut the grass this year and didn’t step in his p**p. And then realizing it was gone. Not finding his hair around the house, pieces of food he dropped, toys he dragged out. I’ll stop and see something he chewed on at one point, just to see if his teeth marks were there (they weren’t). I’m clinging to some kind of physical memory of him, and they are disappearing. I have his paw impression, so he must have been real. I remember that paw perfectly. I remember how he smelled, how his barks would differ depending on the situation. I don’t understand how none of it exists anymore. He’s only in my memory.
But I have my grief. My grief is the proof my heart needs to remember how real he was, how special. How much I loved him, and still do. My grief reminds me every day how much he mattered. 💔
