The List of Loss?

I've experienced a lot of loss in my life. I don't say that as a victim stance, simply as a fact. Born later in the lives of my parents, some of that is simply to be expected. My brother and sister were school classmates with the parents of MY classmates! Nieces and nephews who were and are basically the same age as me. 38 aunts and uncles, grandparents, parents, a brother, a nephew who was Iike a brother, a mentor, friends, just lots of goodbyes.

I keep a running list in my phone's notes app for God's sake! What year people and pets left my life.

Much of this type of loss, while expected, was very difficult. Then the losses you don't see coming, like estrangement by close friends which leaves you feeling confused, shame, wondering why - with no way to get closure. A disorienting swirl that won't leave you alone even in your sleep and leaves you asking on repeat… “ Was ANY of that relationship real?”

Last week my oldest dog, Taz, named after a beloved mentor of mine, had reached the point that he was struggling at age fourteen and a half.
Taz was my tenth dog in this lifetime. He was the last remaining member of a pack of four dogs that represented a big time of my journey. Saying goodbye to him felt like loss of a connection to a whole era of my life.

I've held on too long when the struggle time comes. I look for work-arounds, ways to help. For Taz, the house was carpeted in yoga mats to help prevent slipping and his doing the splits. Places he liked to hang out were made into soft, cushy nests with therapeutic mats, blankets, beds. He visited the veterinarian chiropractor regularly as proactive help for his long corgi spine. Ate the best food with supplements from an elevated bowl so he could sit down while he ate. Got him a puppy to keep him engaged (both a stuffed one in the pic and a real one named Zoe). You name it, I tried it in this past year especially.
And still, the second guessing of  “was this the right time?” “Did I do right by Taz in the timing of helping him say good bye?” comes for a long while.

The hardest part afterward within the grief is the wonkiness of the routine without the missing person or pet. The things you did seemingly automatically are not there. The checking to see if he's doing okay. The energy of mealtime excitement. The extra attention and care you were giving, is now an empty space. What do I do with that love and attending I was giving every day at this time? “If I stop pouring love into something… where does that energy go?” And, what happens when your identity is no longer organized around caring for something/someone? That empty space is scary. Who am I if I'm not in that role? This is where you either sit with it and go all the way in and meet it, or fill it with distractions.

Crying, it's exhausting. Period. No wonder I avoid it most of the time.

And, here is what I also notice, the “list of loss” is not the whole story. Notice what remains. The love is still there, both what you gave and what you received. It never dies. The love is eternal and in a different form after you say goodbye. So perhaps "The List" in my notes app is not of loss, but of love. If this is the case, I switch from being abandoned and alone to surrounded and supported by all those who've I've lived a part of my life with and loved. Nothing was taken. It was all given—and it’s still mine.
The list didn’t shrink my life. It’ s a record of how much of it I’ve lived so far. 

XOXOXOX
​Sandy