Tag: grief

Honor or Betrayal?

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Last week I wrote about loving and losing our non-human friends.  It was a difficult essay for me to write because of the recent losses my family and friends endured.  It also opened some old wounds when I had to say goodbye to my dog Cosmo, just four short years ago this month.

When Cosmo died, I was devastated.  I wasn’t sure how I would continue to function on a daily basis, especially since my work is helping people and their dogs live happily together.  How would I be able to council someone on developing a great friendship with their dog when my own beloved friend was now gone from my life?  

After he died, I didn’t want to leave my house without my best buddy riding next to me as he did for almost 12 years, and yet I didn’t want to stay in my house either – the void was just too great to bear.   It was even more difficult when I’d see my other dog Cecil, watch the door,  waiting for his friend who would never come home again.  

Struggling with my loss, I swore up and down that I would never replace him.  Not only did I not want to endure the pain again, but that getting another dog would be a dishonor to him and his memory.  Besides, I told myself, I’d always compare another dog to him and that wouldn’t be fair to the new dog.  No, I thought firmly, I will never betray my friend Cosmo.  

Three days later…  

I wasn’t strong enough to bear the emptiness.  I needed bring another dog into my life.  I decided that since Cosmo was no longer with me, I’d give another dog in need a chance at life.  Of course, that dog would never replace Cosmo. 

My wife and I took a ride to our local shelter.  We looked at many dogs there, all of them in such desperate need of a home of their own, but I needed to give more thought to bringing another dog home so soon.   That evening, I looked at some photos that a friend who runs a rescue had posted online.  One picture grabbed me.  

I can’t say what it was about her picture that made me pause and really look deeper.  The dog in the photo wasn’t exactly the type of dog I would normally look at.  I had a preference for larger dogs and this one was small to medium.  Yet there was something about her that prompted me to inquire further.  I messaged my friend and we set up a meet and greet a few days later.

Vanora, what the rescue was calling her, was nothing like the type of dog I was partial to.  First of all, she was a she, and I always had a preference for males.  Secondly, she was smaller than I usually liked and was brindle-colored, which I didn’t really care for.  Meeting her didn’t go so well, either.  She never really looked at me – she kept shifting her gaze to the squirrels and chipmunks that were running around in the field we were in.  It’s not that she didn’t want to engage with me, but she preferred viewing the wildlife more.  How could I ever connect with this small, distracted, brindle female?  

I’m happy to say that Vanora, now named Bhakti (which means devotion in Sanskrit), has been the light of my life for the past four years.  She is different than any dog I’ve ever had the privilege to share my life with.  We have a connection that is on the same level that I had with Cosmo.  

In the beginning, I struggled with the thought that I had somehow betrayed Cosmo by loving Bhakti.  It felt almost like I was cheating on him, and that he would be jealous.  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I wasn’t  betraying Cosmo, I was honoring him.  I remembered a line from my all-time favorite film “Harold and Maude”.  In a scene where Maude was dying, Harold tearfully said to her, “Don’t die, Maude, I love you!”  Her response was the most profound message I ever heard when it comes to loving and losing: “That’s wonderful! Now go and love some more.”

There is a quote that is credited to the Buddha which says: “Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.”    I believe this is true with love, too.  When our beloved friends leave us, sharing our love with another dog does not diminish our first love, it only strengthens it.  Our friends will always occupy unique places in our hearts; nothing can ever replace them.  By adding more love to our lives with another dog who needs us, we greatly honor the memory of our departed friends. Not just tucked away in our hearts, but in the daily expression of love we give the friends that are with us.

As We Love, So We Grieve

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“When one person is missing the whole world seems empty.”
– Pat Schweibert

This has been a tough few weeks for my friends and family.  My daughter unexpectedly lost her cat, Tiggy.  A friend of mine had to say goodbye to several of her non-human friends she cares for at her sanctuary, and another friend lost her dog.  It seems as if the Universe is reclaiming its precious jewels all at once.  

Most of us know that when we choose to share our lives with a dog or any non-human friend, the day will come when we will ultimately part ways.  Our dogs and other animal friends become so woven into our lives. We calculate with confidence that we have years before we must say goodbye to them and we store it into the far recesses of our minds, taking comfort in the fact that it’s not imminent. We avoid thinking about how delicate and fragile these threads of friendship are that hold our world together.   Yet, as much as we push this thought away, it persistently and stubbornly surfaces on occasion to remind us that the fateful day will come soon enough. 

I often wonder why our dogs live only a fraction of the time we do.  It would seem that a friendship that’s been thousands of years in the making would last both our lifetimes.  Then I remembered what a friend once told me long ago that brought me comfort during a difficult time when one of my dogs passed.  Dogs live shorter lives than we do so that they don’t have to endure the pain of losing us.  We care for them, protect them and nurture them through the entirety of their lives.  They depend deeply on us and we become their whole world.  Losing us would be devastating for them, so it stands to reason that by them leaving before we do, they are spared that pain.  That is our burden to bear.  

We should have no regrets for our dogs when they leave us.  They live each moment of their lives to the fullest – not because they do any grand or ambitious thing, but rather because they are completely engaged in the present, and don’t look away from it.  Dogs extract every moment from life, whether it is 15 years or 15 days. Their ability to be totally present means they are complete and full, with no residue of regret or unfulfilled dreams.  As the philosopher Michel de Montaigne put it:

“The utility of living consists not in the length of days, but in the use of time; a man [dog] may have lived long, and yet lived but a little. Make use of time while it is present with you. It depends upon your will, and not upon the number of days, to have a sufficient length of life.”

To lose a friend is a painful and traumatic event.  They are a part of us; a piece of our tapestry that is torn away, only to leave a gaping hole.  As much as we try, that hole will never be repaired completely.  The scar will always be there.  But is this a reason not to become friends in the first place?  Or is it, as Tennyson said:  “’Tis better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all.”  

 Our friends are never replaceable, nothing will ever fill that void.  But to avoid friendships because we fear the pain of losing them will only create deeper voids.  How empty and hollow our lives would be if we never had the privilege of sharing a piece of it, however brief, with our dogs.  At least when we remember the friends we have lost, for that moment the hole is filled; the empty space is lined with love.  It becomes a testament to them and how they’ve changed our lives for the better.  If we were never friends in the first place, we’d still be hollow, but that hollowness would always remain empty.  The gaping hole in our life’s tapestry would still be there, but we wouldn’t be aware of it.  It would be a small, but persistent feeling of emptiness that we would never be able to identify, like a vague itch that can never be satisfactorily scratched.  Yes, it is better to have loved and lost.

As we love, so we grieve.  We will have good days and bad days, and that will stay with us always.  Through the years I have lost many friends.  Some were expected, some were not, none were easy.  Sometimes, when I least expect it, a memory of a long gone friend will arise and bring a sharp pang in my heart, but always with a subtle sweetness to it as if to say: “I’m still here.  I’m still with you.”  The writer Elizabeth Gilbert put it so perfectly: “Grief is a force of energy that cannot be controlled or predicted.  It comes and goes on its own schedule.  Grief does not obey your plans, or your wishes.  Grief will do whatever it wants to you, whenever it wants.  In that regard, grief has a lot in common with love.”

As I write this, I see the photographs on my wall of the dogs I had the privilege to share my life with.  I look at the dogs who are with me now, sleeping peacefully on my bed, and know that I wouldn’t trade the love or the pain for anything.  Because I have both, I am blessed.