A friend texted condolences to me for my recent loss of Snickers. As I thought about my reply, I was thinking how much I loved Snickers and why her death has hit me so hard. There are some obvious reasons:
- She lived with me for 14 years. That’s longer than any other pet and longer than any other human I lived with except for my wife (and my mother when I was a child).
- I loved her every day for 14 years – she’s 2nd only to my wife.
- We spent over 5000 days together.
- We walked more than 10,000 times together.
- We lived in 3 different homes and traveled more than 12,000 miles together.
- She was my last living connection to my wife because she was “our” dog before she was my dog.
I have Wiggles. She’s been a loving, sweet and wonderful companion. But this doesn’t make my heartache any less for the loss of Snickers.
Then I was thinking – am I destined to be a man who is defined by grief?
I’m a widower who still loves my wife and his dead dog. Is this what I have become?
As I pondered this I thought, No… I am not defined by grief, it is not my identity. But loss has been a constant part of my life. It has left its indelible mark on me and has contributed significantly to the man I am today.
- My father left when I was 5 and disappeared from my life.
- My mother tore us away from our extended family and moved us across the state when I was 7. I was on my own to figure out how to adapt to a new school, a different, culture and a complete loss of family support.
- I switched schools 4 times and moved 5 times in 10 years – cutting off any lasting connections to my previous home, friends and classmates.
- In college, I lost my identity as “the smart guy“. It took me a long time to find my way past that.
- I lost jobs.
- I moved a lot as an adult, losing friends, neighbors and connections.
- We went my stepson to live with his father.
- My stepdaughter died.
- My dog Ziggy went to the vet for a routine treatment and died.
- My dog Shortie and our cats Lolita and Willow had to be euthanized.
- My wife died.
- My (former?) stepson and I have no relationship.
- Snickers died.
But here’s the rub. Even with all of this loss, I am fairly optimistic, happy and content.
All of these losses were devastating. Some required decades to recover from. Others, took years. Thinking about them can make me sad, but more often, I think about the great memories and love and good times that happened before these losses. When I really think about any one of them, I feel more wistful than sad.
I wish my dogs were still alive. I wish my wife was still here. I wish things could have worked out differently.
But I don’t spend time dwelling on wishes. I’ve got better ways to spend my energy and brain cells.
Loss and grief has stripped away my tolerance for bullshit. I don’t put up with people who are not nice to me. I don’t force myself to do things because of guilt, societal expectations or “obligations” assigned by others.
I have learned that the good old days are right now. Always. Tomorrow may never arrive. Or, when it does, it might be really bad.
But I don’t worry about tomorrow – at all.
When I walking with a woman at the park a few days ago, she asked about my knee. As I told her how grateful I was that it was getting better, I said, “The best part of getting an injury is that, when I start to heal, it makes me really appreciate all the things I take for granted everyday. It’s just like when I recover from am illness. For at least a few days, I am ecstatic that I can breathe without coughing or walk without pain.”
And she said, “You have such a positive attitude – it’s so refreshing!“
Ha. Imagine that. Me.
Mr. Positivity.