
Grief is a strange beast.
No matter how much you think you’ve prepared yourself for it, you haven’t.
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I knew as my beloved dog grew older, his time would come eventually. Still, I wasn’t prepared for the suddenness of his departure from my world. The pain of his passing hit me in a way I couldn’t have imagined - until I was in it.
It felt like I was stuck in a cycle of realizing the permanence of this immense loss, then distracting myself with other thoughts or tasks before inevitably coming back to the realization that he was gone. And the cycle of grief would start over again.
Pain, distraction, pain, distraction…
The smallest of things could trigger any number of emotions. Vacuuming up his hair, a thoughtful message from a friend sending their condolences, catching myself accidentally preparing his medicine in the morning…
I would find myself hoping to feel or see him around the house – poking his head around a closed door to check on me, licking my hand as he follows me walking around the house, his ears poking up over the couch on alert as I call his name.
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It was crippling at first.
But then someone told me the intensity of my pain in loss was simply an indicator of the profound love I had experienced in life.
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It didn’t take away the pain, but it certainly helped changed my perspective on it.
The loss of my sweet boy changed me forever. But so did his life.
My husband and I first met Shaw when he was almost 2 years old at Chicago Animal Care & Control in 2014. We had gone to meet another dog, a corgi-golden mix, who was scooped up before we even arrived.
But as we walked through the aisles of barking dogs all shouting for our attention, we saw him. A black brindle Dutch shepherd quietly and patiently staring at us.
He had been there for several weeks and there was a possibility of euthanasia if he didn’t find a home soon. My husband knew in that moment he was ours. And the next day, he was.
The unconditional love of a rescue dog is different from any other pet I’ve had. He would have given his life for me, and in a way, he did.
He spent every day loving me in a way that I don’t know if I will ever truly grasp.
If I was sad, he was there to comfort me, licking away my tears or warming me with the perfect snuggle. If I was anxious, he offered me reassurance. If I was happy, he was there to share in my joy, even if he was unaware of its source.
I had been faced with the possibility of losing him once before.
In 2022, he was paralyzed from the neck down in a collision with our other dog while playing fetch.
But several vet visits, major surgery and multiple physical therapy sessions later and he was back on all fours, chasing a ball in our yard once again.
As long as he was willing to fight to be with us, I was going to fight alongside him.
But when it came time for the end, I felt that same reassurance he had given me so many times in his short life. Even in his final moments, he was there to comfort me and I had to do for him what he spent his life doing for me.
For nearly 10 years I was gifted an experience I will cherish forever. And knowing what it feels like to have that taken away, I would still do it all over again.