Letting go

This is my lovely Lucy. I said goodbye to her about 6 weeks ago. Her mobility and quality of life were deteriorating and I was avoiding the inevitable at her expense. Having her euthanized was the right thing to do.

We donated the food bowls, dog beds, leashes, etc. to the local SPCA. We had the big area rug in the living room cleaned, and adjusted to living without dog hair everywhere. Today, I found one of her leashes. Tears welled up. The grief is still there.

I am practical and pragmatic. I live with chronic health problems and know that dying is the natural conclusion.

As my husband says, "No one's getting out alive." True. My parents and my brother are gone. All my aunts and uncles have died. I said goodbye, but letting go was much harder. My mom, dad or brother randomly show up in dreams. I tell stories about them and am so grateful that they were in my life. I have let go, and my memories live on.

A friend died last year during the pandemic, and the celebration of life was delayed until most restrictions on travel and gatherings were lifted. Two weeks ago, we went to that celebration of life and many of the speakers were overcome with emotion speaking about him. A year had gone by, but the grief was still fresh and raw; the goodbyes had been delayed so long.

Saying goodbye and letting go is much harder for some people than others. Some accept grief as a natural process that won't be rushed along. The feelings well up unexpectedly and you ride the wave. Some fight the grief, as if keeping busy or distracted will make the loss less real. I can say goodbye. I can grieve. Letting go? Someday. Thanks, Lucy.