Processing loss

Recently, my family dog died. He was a fifteen-year-old Labradoodle, who, in the final year of his life, had begun to suffer from all the customary signs of old age, like deafness, symptoms of dementia, and limited mobility. 

In the end, it was our decision to end his life, at home, surrounded by family. If I’m being honest, I’ve never been comfortable expressing grief, or even sadness, in front of others. It makes me restless and irritable, and my first instinct is to run.

I didn’t run, though. I wanted to, but I didn’t. I sat with my family and we experienced the moment together, in all its unpleasantness. I didn’t cry (that was too much for me to ask of myself) but I was there. 

I used to worry that my inability to express sadness in a ‘normal’ way was symptomatic of some deeper, inherent flaw, as if some neural pathway formed incorrectly, or worse, didn’t form at all. But I soon realised that there’s no instructional guide to processing loss. Loss looks and feels different for everyone, and there’s no wrong or right way to express it. For me, loss is most commonly experienced through small, seemingly insignificant details – familiar smells, memories of conversations, a piece of music, a colour, a facial expression. I can’t predict what form these remnants might take, but I can count on them to appear at some point, even if it’s days, months, or years later. 

So, here’s an important reminder: loss and grief are strange, just go with it. Whatever you’re doing is okay (so long as you aren’t harming yourself or others). You will be okay. 

Note: For more information about loss & grief, you might like to check out this link.