Looking back over my life, I realize I’ve always been someone who looks to find “my people,” those who I feel organically connected to in some way–great or small. And those I’ve felt a great affinity for have been the people who have remained in my orbit–some close like the moon and others further out like Pluto (yes, Pluto!), only making their presence known once in a while–none greater or smaller than the other. I find value in both.
After the great loss of my sweet Kallie in December, I was reminded how many wonderful people I’m gifted to know and love. Unlike the loss of Ken, who so many felt so deeply because he belonged in some way or another to so many of us, Kallie was all mine. Just mine. And as I reminded her every day in one of our “tummy time” sessions, she was my baby and would be forever and ever and ever and ever. But, maybe similar to how so many loved Ken, my friends who are pet lovers have suffered the loss I have–similar in as many ways it is unique to us, our lives and beloved furry companions.
I received such a lovely outpouring of support. Sympathy cards mixed in with Christmas cards. The great fortune of experiencing the messiness of life. How there aren’t clear delineations between events or feelings or differences. For me, most grief roads–no matter where they begin–lead to Ken. Our life. And how in spite of the searing pain of losing him, I metabolized it and became a stronger version of myself. This takeaway is one I consider to be one of the many gifts I received from loving him.
What comes up for me with the subject of grief is something I first learned from my friend Claire, our grief counselor, when Ken was in hospice: grief is the flip side of love. They are intimately connected. Great grief comes from great love. It’s also something the very sweet veterinarian who helped to free Kallie from her pain said. The theme of great grief as a reflection of great love is of some comfort…in time. And she and Claire were right. It’s something I’ve thought about every time I’ve experienced grief or loss since Ken died. It’s like a secret I’ve been let in on. A key to some kind of lock that leads to freedom in understanding. And though it doesn’t diminish my tears or sadness, it explains them to me. And I’m willing to pay the price of great grief because loving them was worth every single second.
Most days, when I think of my sweet girl, much like it is when I think of Ken, it’s just the memories of the great love that remain. But, there is nothing that helps with grief and loss like community. Thank you, my friends, for your love and support over the years.