Monday, September 24, 2018

ROBBLOG #740- Good Grief


You know, I'm not exactly sure how one goes about handling this thing called mourning.

I know it isn't easy.
I've been on this road before- too often these past few years.
Life they tell me...
It's just life.

No, it isn't.
It's finality.
The end.
It is death.
The end of our mortal existence and for that reason it has to be sad at the very least.
It has to be tough.
It has to be emotional.
It has to be warm.
It has to be a time for heavy sighs, salty tears and a future without familiarity of life.
I suppose at some point, uplifting as well.
That's the part I am waiting for.

Some days and during some times of some days, I feel fine.
Then, I take one look at our Missy's basket or glance over at Dickens snoozing on a chair with one of Missy's stuffed animals next to him.
~sigh~

I watch Koko curl up in Missy's familiar basket while I am sitting here at this keyboard and I feel such sadness. I try to remember what it was like looking into those dark Schnauzer eyes or cradling her in my arms even during her last few moments.
That's the tough bit.


Some days, Tom and I are out for our daily walk and images of my Cousin Judy and her voice come floating along as if on the wind. Judy always said she'd come by- if she could.
I think she has several times already.
I feel her warmth as if she has placed her hands on my shoulders.
I hear her voice. A whisper in my ear.
"I'm just fine..."
Her laughter.
The reminiscing when we would get together.
Then, I begin to miss her even more.

For the past year we haven't been face to face since I'm here- on the Island, she's back in Ontario.
We talked every week.
Sometimes more.
The week before her heart attack we were making plans for her to come out and stay for a while. Her Doctors were cautious and said no flying. She was waiting to hear from another. She knew her kidneys were not good but the last couple of times we talked she seemed so strong. Her heart was always a problem but I felt she should strike while the iron's hot or at least the body was willing.
Who knew?
I certainly never thought I would be writing this blog at this time.

Time.
We always think there is more time but there isn't.
Time is fleeting. That's old- I know.
Time rushes by like a speeding train to the station at the end of the line called "Mortality".
That station waits for us all. We've already bought our ticket. The final excursion date is set- for some of us earlier rather than later.

It seems like a waste of time this sadness but one has to work through it and it's probably different for everyone. Whether mourning a four-legged family member or a two-legged one- it still hurts.

Writing helps.
The understanding of family and friends helps.
Breathing. Walking. Reading and Hugs help.

Tears do too somehow and they will stop...

one day.

2 comments:

  1. We each walk through grief differently and in our own way and time. Just continue t be gentle with yourself and you will get there, just where you need to be. ((( xx )))

    ReplyDelete
  2. Grief is a journey. Ne kind to yourselves. Here for you both any time ❤

    ReplyDelete