Friends.
3 weeks ago we had to set our cat, Pixie, free. Veterinarians say “euthenize”, but. I don’t know. That feels so cold. Doesn’t it? And “putting to sleep” feels so final. And “putting down”? I hate that phrase. Unfortunately, I’ve had plenty of space over my 43 years to “experiment” with all of these phrases to see which one feels best … and, truly, none of them do.
But.
Setting free? Something about that is soothing.
Dana and I got Pixie from a shelter about a week after we were married back in 2010. We brought her home as the tiniest kitten and for 7 years she was our “baby”. And then in 2017 our actual baby arrived and from the moment Jordan was in Dana’s belly until Pixie took her last breath - they were the very best of friends.
And yes - they were friends even BEFORE Jordan was born.
I tell this story all the time, but Dana used to lay on the bed while Jordan was kicking from inside her belly and Pixie would lay across Dana’s belly and actually play with Jordan - patting Dana’s belly as Jordan kicked. It was the craziest and most adorable thing. And then when Jordan was born I brought a blanket home from the hospital that Pixie would lay on. And THEN when we brought Jordan home, Pixie was by her side 99.9% of the time.
Best.
Friends.
Forever.
And as Jordan grew, Pixie would follow her around the house - sit on the floor with her while she played dolls, cuddle with her on the couch, sleep on her when she was sick. So many stories. Even up until her last moments, Pixie laid on Jordan’s lap and purred while she slept.
But a few weeks ago Pixie stopped eating. And then a lump appeared on her side. And then she had a seizure … and in between multiple trips to the vet, we had to make the hardest of decisions.
I stayed home with Jordan while Dana took Pixie to the vet to set her free and I’ll never forget the absolute heartache of taking Pixie out of Jordan’s arms as she trembled and wept and then waving goodbye on the front steps as Dana drove away. I felt like an absolute monster. Even now, tears are streaming down my face. It’s a feeling of grief and heartache that will never, ever leave.
And then.
As if that isn’t enough, today we had to set our dog free as well - just 3 short weeks later. Bubba was 16 years old and was having such terrible arthritis that getting around was almost impossible for him. He couldn’t go outside anymore, could barely walk, and couldn’t always make it to his pee pad on his own. He had to lay down to eat, his bones were pushing up against his skin, and although he wasn’t in any pain from what we could tell - it felt cruel to let him live like that. We took him for a vet appointment and the doctor said there’s nothing they can do, it would only get worse.
Bubba came to us with his sister, Snuffy (who we set free in 2023), after Dana’s Aunt passed away in 2020. They were her babies and we took them in and tried to give them the best life we could. They were older when they got here and not too interested in playing and doing dog-like-things, but Jordan adored them both … they were our family.
Sigh.
And so as if a replay of 3 weeks ago, Dana took Bubba to the vet while I stayed home with Jordan and we wept together.
How do you explain this grief to an 8 year old?
How do you (as a parent) allow the grief to exist when you so much want to make it all go away, when you want to absorb all the pain and heartache into your self so that your child doesn’t have to feel it?
How do you (again, as a parent) resist the urge to say “it’ll be OK”, “Pixie/Bubba are in a better place” … how do you resist the urge to say (let’s be honest) unhelpful things like that in an effort to soften a blow that can never be softened?
How do you let the grief be while also assuring your child that everything really WILL BE OK?
How do you explain that sadness is OK, that grief is OK … when everything in the world tells us we should move past those “negative feelings” ASAP?
Sigh.
Sigh.
Sigh.
So many questions, none of them have easy answers.
After Pixie passed away Jordan said something I’ll forget - something that really, really made me think. She said, “I don’t think I’m ever going to get over this, I don’t think I’ll ever move past this.”
Phew.
I opened my mouth to say something that might lessen her pain, but then … I paused.
And I paused some more.
And I pondered.
And I reflected.
And I let those holy words hang in there air.
Maybe for a minute?
Two?
Five?
I don’t know, but when I opened my mouth a deep, deep part my Self spoke some of the wisest words that have ever left my tongue.
I said …
“You know, I don’t think you will ever get over your grief. Instead, you will move forward with your grief. I think that’s the best way to think about loss. We never get over it - we just move forward with it. We take it with us. We pack it up. And we allow the sadness to soften our hearts, to enlarge our perspective on life and love, to change us for the better. And so let your tears come. Let them come as often as they need to come, whenever they need to come. Don’t stuff it away. Don’t lock it up. Don’t pretend it doesn’t hurt. Don’t worry about what other people think. Let the world know how much it hurts and always remember that the pain you feel today is worth it because the deep pain you feel in your loss is simply a reflection of the deep love you had and will always have for Pixie and Bubba.”
Yeah.
We don’t get over our grief, but we move forward with it - we befriend it, we name it, we listen to it, we learn from it, we honor it … and (in turn) it changes us, softens us, helps us grow more and more into and live from our true Selves.
We’ve had a lot of loss these past years in our family …
My dad in 2023.
Our dog, Snuffy, in 2023.
My mom and dad’s cat, Pookie, earlier this year.
Dana’s aunt a few months ago.
Pixie a few weeks ago.
Bubba.
… Honestly, it’s felt like endless tears these last few years. And I used to stuff my pain away and move on with my life. “I’ll cry in heaven”, I said, “but for now I’ve got work to do!”
What an unhealthy way, I’ve come to realize, to handle a very real, necessary, and perspective-altering emotion. It saddens me to think about how many times I shamed myself for wanting to cry, convincing mysef that tears would only hold me back from my goals and from who I thought I was supposed to be.
More sighs.
For grief, I’m realizing, is not something to resist, but to embrace; not something to shy away from, but to lean into; not an enemy, but a friend.
And so these days, I just feel it. I let it come. And with each loss that comes our way, I reflect a little deeper, cry a little harder, and express a little more gratitude that I hurt deeply now only because I had a lifetime of love with the one I lost.
And as Dumbledore said to Harry Potter towards the end of “The Prisoner of Azkaban” …
“You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us? You think we don’t recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble?”
Indeed.
Although the ones we lost feel far from our grasp, the reality is (I believe) that they are closer than they have ever been before because the deeper we dig and the more self-reflection we do, the more clearly we see them inside of ourselves.
And so one of the things Jordan and I do is place our hand on our hearts, take deep breaths, and remember that the dear souls of the ones we love now exist and reside within the very breaths we take - and they forever will.
Much love.
Glenn || PATREON / ART STUDIO