For months now…oh about six…I haven’t had the desire to do much. Blogging always helped me deal with things and I’ve found support here I never thought possible…but I just haven’t felt like it. I’ll think about blog posts, write them in my head, but then in the day I don’t get out my computer and get in touch with the world. I keep thinking I’m snapping out of it, and I am better…and I do think I’m pulling myself out of this depression now, but it was there sitting on my shoulder, whispering in my ear “What’s the point?”
It’s almost 6 months since Sandy died, and I’ve been consumed with grief and guilt. I know I don’t have a reason to feel guilty, but all the “should have, would have, could have” questions kept swimming around in my head. Those kind of questions don’t do any good at a time like this, but they’ve been surrounding me…all the “What if’s…”
I still expect to see her, and occasionally, out of the corner of my eye, I could swear she was there. I will feel her on the bed, and nothing is there. There have been times I could have sworn I heard her. (Now I wonder how many times I heard noises and thought they were her and they were something else?)
A lot of people would not understand this deep grief I feel for the loss of my dog. But she was more than just a dog to me…she was a constant companion for 19 years, my Baby Girl, my Sugar Plum Fairy…or as Stuart would call her, our “Stinky Dog”. No Sandy wasn’t a Stinky dog. It is a term of endearment from my husband, if he makes up a little song about you and it says you are stinky then he must love you dearly.
Because of this lack of understanding, and the feeling within myself that I shouldn’t feel like this still, I’ve been feeling very alone with these emotions. I hid a lot of it from Stuart for a while, but recently I haven’t been able to.
Two nights ago, I had a complete breakdown. Nothing sparked it, nothing. I was just about to doze off, and it started. I ended up crying (read sobbing uncontrollably) for almost two hours. Since then I have felt a release. I’m still crying over her, but something broke during that night of gut wrenching sobbing. I feel freer from the guilt than I have, I feel like I can move on….that doesn’t mean I’m forgetting my dearest Sandy Girl and everything she means to me, but I hope it means I can begin to see the sun again. I’m kicking that little guy off my shoulder, he will no longer be able to whisper those disparaging words to me. I love Sandy, and always will. I know I did the best I could for her, even if i do question that sometimes. More so, I question if the vet did the best she could have done for her, but I need to let that go too. (However, Max has a new vet now.)
I know she was 19 1/2. That’s amazing I’m told. But just days before she died she was chasing the cat, curling up with me, and just such a happy dog. I remember how every time she ate her dinner she wagged her tail the whole time. I need to think more about the good memories, and remove the shroud that has been over me holding in just the memories of her last days. Sandy brought me too much love to dwell on the tragedy of her death.
I won’t make promises that I will be here more often, but I think I will be….I need to get back to my friends, and managing my life, instead of allowing it to manage me.
(there may be many errors in this post, I just can’t read it again right now.)
13 thoughts on “A Realization”
Aww, Wendy. Grief is so hard. Two steps forward, one step back. Embrace your feelings, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with any of them – even the guilt. Of course when someone is part of your life for 19 years, it’s going to take a long time to work through all the necessary stages. She sounds like she was a wonderful companion. How fortunate you both were to have each other! Big hugs, Angelea
Thank you Angelea, She was a wonderful companion. As Stuart always said, “Everybody loves Sandy!” I think if something had happened to us first there would have been a fight between many people as to who would take Sandy…well if it hadn’t been in our will. I’m getting through, but it’s a tough road to follow. w
I have missed you, on the group and personally. I know how hard it is to lose you big, stinky dog love. And, while I love and adore Lexi, I still miss Callie sometimes. I used to feel guilty about it but you cant replace one dog for another. It’s NORMAL and so is your grief. You were together for a very long time, how lucky you both were. Take your time, come back when you want. I welcome you with open arms and a gentle hug. I know how it feels, believe me. Love, Laurie
Love is love is love. You loved her. She loved you. You are bereft. It is natural and normal to grieve the passing of one so beloved.
I COMPLETELY get where you’re coming from. I lost my dog over two years ago and I still get weepy. Mostly it’s just healthy grief from missing her. Sometimes, though, I reduce myself to a snotty, sobbing mess just thinking of her last day. But only when I’m alone because it’s been well beyond the accepted “mourning” period. Who cares, though? Grief and guilt are irrational and have their own time-frame. I hope you get your motivation back now that you’ve had some cathartic crying.
Sounds like you have been fighting your grief and when you just let it go you felt better. If you hang onto it and try to bury it then it will stay with you longer. You have a right to grieve. Sounds like you need some alone bawling your guts out times. But I don’t think Sandy would want to be the cause of your unhappiness for too long. 😉 *hugs*
(((Wendy))) we went through so much when we lost Sampson and also Pee Wee. We always considered them members of the family. Pee Wee was from my first marriage and was our “son” as we didn’t have children until we adopted Jodi. When he died I thought we might have to go to grief counseling because there was such a dark cloud over our heads. We would just sit in silence and sigh over the loss. When Sampson passed it was more expected but that didn’t make it any easier. We went through the sense more than once that he was jumping on the bed. I also found he seems to have taken a presence in the spirit of Merry and Saber as there are moments I call them Sampson and there are times his name just rolls off my tongue. I did end up getting new “pets” but they do not replace who I have lost. I am rambling…take your time to grieve and please know that there is no time frame… Sandy is still a member of your family, just on the other side of the fence. I believe that spirit is present with you all. I believe if you talk to her she will hear you. I love that Stuart called her Stinky Dog. I call Saber stinky too. It’s a term of endearment. ❤
Hugs, hugs and more hugs. I’m so happy that you’re feeling freer. The sorrow and guilt, while normal, can become controlling and claustrophobic. We always wish we had more time, more money to do things properly or differently, get a second or third opinion… the list goes on.
The connection we feel with our fur babies is strong when we choose to bring an animal into our lives to love. But, it intensifies when we have a chronic illness and they become our constant companion. The love we have for them, and their love for us, is never to be underestimated.
(I still have to answer your email, my concentration for computer things requiring concentration still sucks and needs working on.)
I’m the same way. As you know, my cat Daisy died suddenly recently. I have found a new cat but she looks exactly like Daisy. I always make the mistake of calling her Daisy because they look so much alike. I mean they could be twins. I hope things get better for you, on my end not so much.
Wendy, I also have been absent from the blogging world for quite a long time. Grief has had it’s long claw-like fingers wrapped around my heart and soul for what seems like forever. (I need a good kick in the ass.) I’m so sorry that you are having such a hard time now, but it is completely understandable, at least to me it is. Take care, take time and give yourself a break. Sob as much as you want. It’s okay.
Mo, Thank you. Perhaps we should each give ourselves a virtual kick in the ass. : ) The sobbing, that has to end. It’s killing me. Not good for my conditions, or my husband’s mental state. I had another sobbing breakdown yesterday because of that commercial for the Humane Society where they show all the sad and hurt animals. I had a complete and utter break down. Stuart came in the room, I was shaking all over and sobbing uncontrollably and couldn’t talk. Finally I got out, “That damn commercial!” he thought it was another commercial that makes me dizzy. Then I said, those pleading eyes….and he was so confused and you could tell he was starting to freak out. Not good since I already was. But I calmed down, and felt so mad and sad. I don’t want to have these emotions right on the edge. I thought the last break down was it…I thought it was a sign to more on…to think the best memories of Sandy and stop tormenting myself.
I’ve missed you blogging. But understand. It’s hard a lot of the time. But it’s been good for us to. I have reasons I’ve been away….more than just this one…but blogging is for me…and I’m not going to be pushed away from it. (if you know what I mean, and I think you do)
looking forward to seeing more posts from you soon. w
Grief and guilt can eat away at you; but there are always the “what ifs” that make it hard to let go of the guilt.
Some times a good cry is what we need. I understand the uncontrollabe (and often unconsolible crying.
You lost a membe of your family; you did lose a piece of yourself. I hope that you get to the point where the grief and the guild aren’t consuming your thoughts and your heart!
Wendy, just the fact that Sandy lived 19 1/2 years suggest all the love and auspicious life you gave her. It’s horrific to lose a family member … Sandy your dog! She wants you to remember her for all those amazing and compassionate memories you have. There will always be tears, and always her memories. I dread the thought of losing my dog someday. When life is tough, you can always depend on the animals (and your husband). They don’t leave you, they stay for the duration until their lives end. Take care and stay safe, Edie