Chasing meaning is better for your health than trying to avoid discomfort. —Kelly McGonigal
💔If you are experiencing “fresh” grief, please give yourself permission to skip reading this issue. Instead, find a way to honor your journey with patience and compassion…the process and timeline are yours to define. May you find meaning in your loss and also know peace and comfort in the days ahead. 🙏🏼
Which Day is the Hardest?
You never know which day will be the hardest when you grieve the loss of a pet.
It might start the day your pet receives a diagnosis of disease. Maybe the wave of grief shows up weeks after your final goodbye. Like when you pull out your Christmas gift list and realize the list of names needs updating…one less squeaky toy to buy and wrap. In that moment, today’s grief weighs heaviest in your heart.
My grief started almost two years ago, when our precious Golden Retriever, Sydney, was diagnosed with vestibular disease (similar to vertigo in humans). At 13 years old, the disorder challenged her balance and ability to walk. This vibrant, two-time 14-er—just months earlier she’d made it to 12 thousand feet—struggled to walk a straight line or stand to eat.
Her grey face suddenly seemed whiter.
I like to think it was her years of walking and boring same-old-dog-food that helped her eventually bounce back to her twice-a-day two-mile walks. Unfortunately, due to the rocky terrain, hiking our beloved Castle Rock was no longer an option.
We limited ourselves to staying on paved trails, with fewer risks of stumbling. But there was also a little grey cloud of grief reminding me to slow down and treasure each time she frolicked with one of her fellow dog-walking friends—she loved humans the most, especially those she knew carried treats.
I practiced more patience for her curiosity over dandelions, mushrooms, and never-to-be-named smells. Random videos of her rolling in the grass wet with dew or a fresh snowfall showed off her resilience and puppy-like joy. She found a new “normal.”
When the Clouds Grow Darker
This past summer, our grey cloud of grief grew bigger and darker. She hesitated to go on her afternoon walk. We told ourselves it was the heat. When she repeatedly lacked her usual enthusiasm for second-walks, we cut them out for her.
So many afternoons, my hands grieved the leash’s weight. Slowly, I came to accept this new normal.
In late August, the upsloping path Sydney walked for over 15 years seemed to be more mountain than hill.
We slowed our pace, sniffed more unremarkable spots (her, not me 😊), and reminisced about favorite places. Yes, I often talked to her out loud, even though at this point she was almost deaf.
We recalled her first puppy experiences as we passed the elementary school. This was where she first met my son’s 4th-grade classmates on the playground. From that day on, we walked him to school every morning and met him after school until he became “too big” to walk with companions (me, not her 😢).
Over the years, she met several playmates and their owners at the high school soccer field. She often out-ran dogs younger than her when chasing after a launched tennis ball. This special place was an opportunity to be off leash and truly be free.
When the Storm Cloud Appears
Golden Retrievers are notorious for being food motivated and in September, when Sydney showed a lack of interest in food, we knew our grey cloud had become a storm cloud.
Sydney loved car rides and whenever the suitcases came out, she plotted her opportunity to get into the back seat. She would not be left behind. She made one more trip to Wisconsin to visit family and lay under the enormous maple in my parents’ front yard.
While the earth continued to rotate and it was business as usual for everyone else, we just knew the day had come for Sydney to “let go of the grass.” We spent the weekend sharing pictures and memories with our son who now lives out of state. Long-distance grief is H-A-R-D. Knowing we were not alone in our deep sorrow, all our emotions flowed without limitations.
We held Sydney close, her warm neck capturing our tears of grief and joy, and any other emotion that showed up with a message.
So many times, my breath caught, and I wasn’t sure it would restart.
Was this the hardest day?
We offered enticing foods to our sweet girl who’d only occasionally known “human treats,” but she ate very little.
She kept losing weight. When she refused chicken, we knew it was time to keep our promise to her and the one thing our son asked…don’t let her suffer.
Was this decision wrapped in the hardest day?
“Letting Go of the Grass”
On Sydney’s last day, we took her to the park, and she ate grass without being told to “stop salad snacking.” At the playground, the laughter of children and the bright sun broke through our grey cloud, gifting us with brief moments of gratitude and peace…and unexpected joy.
For days after, the tears came when I put on my coat and left for my morning and afternoon walks. The grey cloud would reappear when a shadow made my heart leap in memory of where she used to lie. When we came home from an event or turned the lights out at night, I would once again be surprised by my expectation of her presence.
It’s been three months, and I debated when and how to share and honor my grief and my joy. Friends, family and our dog-family have helped me to laugh. It didn’t heal my broken heart, but it definitely helped.
When Grey Clouds Return
The grey cloud doesn’t show up as often these days, but its greatest lesson is showing me how losing Sydney can continue to change the way I engage with the world. While I can’t fill the empty spaces she left behind, I can honor her influence in small ways.
A few weeks ago, I bundled up for a cold, snowy walk. When my husband question whether I really wanted to go out in this weather, my answer was quick, decisive and tearful. “If Sydney was here, I would take this walk without question.” She was, and is, my walking accountability partner.
As we face our first Christmas without a dog in over 31 years (our first Golden, Quincy, lived to be 16), I am carrying with me all the warmth and feelings my first grey cloud of grief encouraged me to capture…and put in my heart’s treasure box.
I continue to find new routines, but each one will be subtly influenced by the pawprints on my heart.
No More Grey Clouds
I like to imagine the day we are reunited with Sydney (and Quincy). I don’t know what it will look like, but I know the “hardest day” will disappear from my memory.
Whether you’re experiencing grief now, in the past, or on the road ahead, may you give your heart compassion and grace to travel the path of grief in your own unique way.
Today may be the hardest day, but I hope the grey clouds of loss guide you to find meaning. May they remind you that you are not alone.
Joy is possible.
Even after the last traces of fur have been swept away, you can find joy in knowing your life has been shaped by unconditional love. This love always has room for unexpected joy.
In memory of our sweet Sydney, please give your furry friends and your non-furry friends an extra hug today whether you see their grey cloud or not.
You can shape someone else’s loss with love, and help them find space for unexpected joy.
🌻 Bonus Seed: If you’re interested in learning more about making space for joy in your life, watch this 60-minute video by Dr Kelly McGonigal as part of the Stanford Continuing Studies program.
