But It’s Just A Dog…
"So it's true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love." E.A. Bucchianeri
I hadn’t slept all night. I couldn’t sleep. It was an early Friday morning and my eyes were heavy from crying. For too many years I had called tears a “weakness.” I considered them to be my worst enemy. How dare I try to FEEL right now. How dare I cry. “What are you crying for, Alana?” I kept thinking to myself.
I was 30 years old and in the past decade I had only cried a handful of times, yet there I was trying to force a lump out my throat. There I was praying for a miracle that I knew wouldn’t come. At this point in time I fully believed that I had failed her over and over again. There I was fighting my own sickness that had been lingering for over a week. My sickness didn’t compare to what she was experiencing. It was as if my body knew she was leaving soon and didn’t know how to process it. I lay in the living room my eyes never leaving her little body. I stared at her ears, her collar, and her paws.
No more.
No more watching her rub her eyes.
No more walks around the neighborhoods.
No more moments of her stealing my food.
No more greetings at the front door when I came home.
Worst of all I’d never hear her collar jingling as she ran to wherever I was. There would be too many “no mores.”
That morning I let her lay in the grass one more time. I let her feel the sun one more time. I rubbed her paw one last time. Normally she would’ve automatically moved her paw away from me, but this time she let me hold it. At that moment all I felt was intense sorrow and shame.
Hours later I watched her take her last breath and something in me broke.
It took me hours to come home. I had no doubt I would lose it when I didn’t hear her collar while I walked upstairs to my apartment door. I was literally holding her collar in my hand.
That day I cried more than I had ever cried in my life. I screamed, cursed, and wailed. I told myself “I failed her.” “I could’ve done things differently.” I told myself that story over and over again for over 2 Years. I was angry and confused. I couldn’t understand ‘why.’ I mean, “She’s just a dog,” right? Why the heck do I hurt/feel like this then?? I was falling down, down, down. No longer was I numb. No. I was feeling everything all at once. I knew at a conscious level that this is what grief looks like. Still, I did not want to accept this.
Over the next few weeks my anger at the world, God, and myself was rapidly taking over me. It didn’t creep up. It hit me hard and fast.
“I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are evil.”
The Dark Night of the Soul
July 23, 2021, woke something up within me. I couldn’t have known that Rain’s death would lead to my rebirth. I didn’t know that by being broken down, I would be built back up. I didn’t know that I’d be here right now writing this blog post for someone out there who feels just as broken as I did three years ago.
I had to go through the valley of grief. I stopped caring about desires, appearances, and living. I slid through life as an unwilling participant. I had to consciously talk myself out of the depression and funk far too many times. I wore my masks once again: the positive entrepreneur, the good employee, the friendly neighbor, and the loving family member. As far as I was concerned, I was here because I had to be. That is it. That is all.
Now and then, I would see flickers of my light shining through. These moments would remind me that all this is temporary. I knew once I gathered the courage to face myself I could heal and that’s what I slowly started to do.
I…
Journaled
Spent time outside
Prioritized sleep
Soaked up sunlight
Talked to myself (literally)
Read books
Re-read books
Invested in coaching
Watched YouTube videos
Removed myself from certain relationships/friendships Disconnected from social media and all its expectations
I got my hands on anything that could help me out of this funk. I searched for anything that could help me relight myself. Slowly my flame grew brighter and brighter.
I Accept
Some people think “It’s just a dog,” but Rain truly saved my life. Her walk over the rainbow bridge forced me to face things within myself that I might have kept locked away within me.
Since then I have experienced many lows, but so many more highs. I’ve gotten to know me at a deeper level. I’ve met my shadow. I’ve laughed and cried with the little girl inside of me. I’ve forgiven myself, God, and so many others. It’s difficult to allow our grief to break us down. It’s the uncomfortable part of this process. Once we sit in this discomfort and feel all our feelings, this gives us the chance and the choice to meet ourselves. Grief can be medicine if we allow it to be. If we don’t, it can destroy us in all kinds of ways. Personally, I chose and I continue to choose the former.
Slowly I’ve been learning how to love myself (even my dark parts), eat for nourishment, limit exposure to toxins, move my body, etc. I saw how those things had a major impact on Rain’s quality of life over the two years she lived after her diagnosis.
Her original Veterinarian told me she wouldn’t make it past 1-2 months with Transitional Cell Carcinoma, bladder cancer. She told me chemo and/or radiation were the only options. Thankfully, I’d held onto a quote from my late Uncle Michael: “Don’t let the diagnosis kill you.” For a long time, I thought his quote was referring to a physical death only. As I have gotten older and developed new perspectives on life, I see his words differently. I believe he was encouraging people like him who had also received a disheartening report from the doctor. Don’t let the sickness rule your mind. Don’t let it shake your spirit or your vibe. Don’t let it kill your happiness or your joy. Don’t let it dim your light.
If Rain hadn’t been diagnosed with TCC I likely would not have taken this path to healing at this point in my life. When her life ended this propelled me to release decades of pain that I had unknowingly kept bottled up inside. I still have more healing to do as healing is a lifetime endeavor. We are not something quickly fixed. It is okay to take your time unlearning and learning. It’s all part of your journey.
Today, I am extremely grateful that I was chosen by the odd puppy out of the bunch. The weird one. The crazy one. The loyal one. She was and still is everything to me.
For 12 years I got to be loved by her and what a honor it was.
"The song is ended, but the melody lingers on.”
Today, I am also extremely grateful for Dr. Karen Rettig (and her whole team at Alternatives for Animals) for their support and guidance for the 2 years Rain lived with the tumor inside of her. Thank you to Dr. Cheryl Ramos (Pets Eternal Rest) for helping my Rainy Baby make her peaceful crossing over the rainbow bridge. A major thank you to Rain’s favorite person, my mom. Her support throughout it all has meant everything to me.
Friend, I’d love to hear from you. How has grief impacted you? Have there been any moments where the very thing that broke you became the thing that triggered you into your purpose?
With so much Love,
Lana
