Jan 9, 2014 – 3 months since Rosie left
Tomorrow, Jan 10, marks three months since Rosie left. I’ve learned a lot of things since that day. One is that I am not as tough as I once was or even thought I was. I’ve also learned that I can go through the motions of life and even accomplish a few tasks even when my heart is heavy and my body aches.
I’ve also learned that people don’t know what to say when someone is grieving. Even good friends who are desperate to help me manage to say things that make me want to run the other direction. Telling me that I will find another dog to love is not helpful. Telling me that it could be worse…Rosie could have been a human child is not helpful. Sometimes when someone is grieving, silence and a hug is better.
In the last few months, I’ve had amazing conversations with folks from all over the world about loss and how they are not faring any better than I am processing the loss of their husband, wife, brother, sister, child, dog, cat or other relative or companion. Too many of these people have found it’s better to pretend all is well rather than let on they are suffering and endure well-meaning lectures from friends or family on the stages of grief or what they should be doing with their lives by now.
Every human is unique in how they process information, how they react to success, loss, birth, death or any other experience. There is no one size fits all response, there is no handbook, each of us must find what works. There is a wonderful article that someone shared with me and I have been sharing with others. Here is the link: http://www.rebellesociety.com/2013/12/18/5-lies-you-were-told-about-grief/
I am sharing it here for those who may be suffering in silence because I want you to stop suffering. You are not alone, there is nothing wrong with you, please stop letting others mold you, be yourself.
I will never be the person I was before Rosie. I will never be the person I was with Rosie. I will forever gasp and tear up when I see her little face in photos. I will always hold her little dresses wishing she could wear them again. I will learn to live and accommodate the pain in my chest when I look at her toys or refresh the flowers by her urn. I will never fill the emptiness she left. I will never replace her and I don’t want to. That doesn’t mean I won’t love another, I will love another only in a different way.
Tonight I am sending a silent hug to all of those in pain. I do it for me and I do it for Rosie.