Post #17 of 40

Giving Up Grieving Alone

The years 2018 - 2022 are a bit of a blur for me. Those years were challenging for our family, and I know we were not alone.

I look back on the New Year’s Eves of the past few years, and I remember the optimism that came with turning the page. “This year will be better,” I’d think. “We’ve endured what we can endure.”

The hard times started in 2018, when my dad was diagnosed with cancer. We all know that our parents will die from something, and most likely they will die before us. That knowledge doesn’t speak to the heart when the diagnosis is shared, though.

We knew 2019 would be better, and that’s when he had his surgery, and my mom’s femur shattered during a fall while taking care of my dad at the hospital. Healing and everyday activities were a challenge for them, and my sister and I helped as much as we could.

We knew 2020 would be better. I was living the life I had dreamed of - self employed, consulting, coaching, presenting workshops for schools and university departments in various states. I had the flexibility to travel, and in a few short months - from November 2019 to March 2020, I went to Nashville, Denver, New York City, Kripalu in Massachusetts, London, Germany, and Switzerland.

By the time our vocabulary included COVID, “flatten the curve,” and lockdown, we were back in the USA and comfortably settled into our Providence apartment with 17 rolls of toilet paper. Yes, I counted.

I started a Learning Pod - aka Pandemic Pod — in 2020. The podsters’ hugs, curiosity, and challenges helped me stay sharp, focused, and in the moment during a difficult period of time for our family and our country.

By the end of 2020, Daddy had died.

When we rang in 2021, I don’t think we were optimistic or pessimistic, either one. We didn’t know what to expect. Eager to get out of town and celebrate the new year and our 35th anniversary, Tom and I spent a few nights at the Intercontinental in Boston. We ate takeout Thai food and food we had brought from home. By then, a COVID variant was wreaking havoc on Christmas and New Year’s plans for many.

Late in the summer of 2021, our dog Leo, was on our front porch with me when a pitbull bolted onto our porch and grabbed Leo in his mouth and began shaking him. I screamed, grabbed the dog’s head and continued to scream for help. Neighbors and Tom heard, and three of us tried to control the dog and loosen the vice-like grip he had on a now still Leo. I screamed for a hammer. It’s all I could think of. A neighbor brought be a hammer. I asked Tom to try to kill the pitbull, but he couldn’t bear to do it, so I began to beat the skull of this dog who still had Leo in his mouth.

I wasn’t strong enough to do any damage, and maybe I made the situation worse. Three of us continued to hold the dog still and tried to keep his jaws from clamping any farther down on Leo for almost half an hour. The police came, and with a a strong fourth person, Leo was able to be pulled from the mouth of the pitbull. After figuring out Leo was alive, we put him inside and continued to hold the pitbull until the owner could be found, and animal control could take the dog away.

The owner of the dog was kind and responsible. His story is not mine to tell. He did everything he could to make the situation right for Leo and me. I owed it to him to tell him that I had tried to kill his dog. He understood. I also let the police know. They assured me that I had not broken any laws.

A neighbor called the animal hospital so that they knew we were coming. They took him in as soon as we arrived. Tom and I washed the blood off of our arms, hands, and legs in the restroom there.

Leo died a long, slow death - brain damage and congestive heart failure - after the attack. He died early in February of 2022.

__________________

When Aruni asked me to assist her during a program called Grief, Loss, and Renewal in the spring of 2022, I wondered if I was the right person. “I have my own issues, Aruni,” I told her. “I’m still grieving over the loss of my dad, and Leo just died.”

She said, “Then, you are the perfect person to be here.”

I was both an assistant and a participant that weekend.

My biggest takeaways were

I had no guilt about my father’s death or our relationship. I was so “lucky” to have had a cast on my foot the summer before his death - making it practical for me to stay with my parents for a month in their foot-friendly house. I was thankful that he and I got along and that he was proud of me.
I did feel some guilt over Leo. Was my timing right when I made the decision to let him fall into that deep sleep on his way to the Rainbow Bridge? Could I have done anything else to make his last few months better?
Talking and sharing with other people who are experiencing grief did not add to my own. I didn’t take on their sadness or their stories. Each person in the room lifted the other up. How on earth were we able to do this in the midst of our own griefs? I am not shy now about talking to a person about the loss of a loved one, even if time has passed.
Sharing with other people - even months or a year after a death - is still helpful. There is not a magic button that one can push to be finished with grief.

In a few weeks, I will head back to Kripalu again to assist Aruni in Grief, Loss, and Renewal: Savoring Life’s Lessons. The dates are March 31 - April 2. Even if your loss occurred months or years ago, I encourage you to consider this program or similar ones.

I hadn’t realized I’d been grieving alone until I spent the weekend with others also grieving.

I hope that you will join me in giving up grieving alone.