2 minute read

It has been said that in order to break a pattern, what is required is fourteen days of doing things differently. As I sit here this morning, alone, I am reminded that sometimes changing our lives requires a bit of effort.

Recently I joined a gym. Though I often work out at home, I thought that getting out of this place might help with creating new patterns. It has for sure but it doesn’t mitigate my sadness. Yesterday I found myself in the packed gym steam room, silently sitting with tears streaming down my face, like a faucet inside me had been turned on. The tears seemingly attached to little or no specific feelings, yet I know this is the involuntary manifestation of my grief toward the death of my dogs. Try as I might to normalize, my inner self takes over and spills out.

Twenty years. That’s how long it has been since I was last alone. Adopting my first dog as an adult in the autumn of 1999, I’ve been responsible for four dogs over the last two decades. More to the point, these animals have been responsible for me. Mostly for the affection I crave. Sad as any loss can be, mourn as I might, beyond the initial grieving process is the reality that any love shared has now left the building.

Without Henry and Emily there is a void in my life. In order to avoid being pressed flat under the weight of the void I stay in motion. Feelings ease over time, but for now they remind me of the massive amount of love and affection, and to be profoundly grateful for the fourteen amazing years I was blessed.