The Sound of Grief

It’s been a month since he’s been gone and it doesn’t feel real. The death of Bingley felt like a death of a part of myself. He passed peacefully at home, surrounded by his toys, his bone and Brandon and I. Because his passing was peaceful I felt ok. He wasn’t in pain anymore, we weren’t weighed by the decision of when it was time anymore, we were all going to be ok. But as the weeks drug on my mind began to shift and grieve, unfamiliar with how manage it my moods swung in a dozen different directions.

I cried, I was irritable, I wanted to ignore most people, I was spent. It wasn’t until I lashed out at Ana that I realized I needed to let it out fully, because I was hurting people I loved. I asked for her forgiveness and apologized minutes later. When she hugged me and told me I had a lot going on I just crumpled and we both cried together. Brandon opened his office door and shut it again. It was one of those moments when it’s best to let the girls just work things out.

Ana went out that night to take care of a few things before her vacation and I asked Brandon to take Lici on a date because I felt I needed to be alone. When the house grew quiet I knelt down in front of Bingley’s bed and I wept. For the first time I heard something I hadn’t heard come from my body before, the full sound of my bereavement. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. The few tears I’d shed before simply weren’t enough. This particular evening every aspect of the loss was present. I spoke to my friend Jenny who has been a mentor to me and reminds me much of my relationship with Ana. “Oh my Natalie.” She said softly. She reminded me that Ana knew my character and that I was in fact showing humility and vulnerability. “One day,” she said. “Ana will do the same because you have modeled it.”

This summer Ana stayed with us while she worked in our area. I had all of these big ideas and hopes for her being here and instead it was one of the hardest chapters in my life. She said that she thinks God’s timing of her being there was perfect. She witnessed our family wrestle with grief and she stepped in multiple times to support us. When she came home that difficult evening Brandon and Felicity were still out. “What did you do with your alone time?” She asked.

“I cried.” I said with swollen eyes. “Pretty much the whole time, I cried, a deep heartbroken guttural cry, and I talked to Jenny.”

Ana said that if I cried in that way for that long then it was probably what I needed and I think she was right.

I wiped my nose with my cloth napkin as we sat at the table. “I feel like God is saying to let it go.. let it all go. The hurt of Samson. Grief of Bingley brought up old feelings of grief over Samson. During that time of grief I felt guilt and shame and loss, of him and friends and family. As a result of that loss I put outrageous expectations on friends, family and myself. I vowed never to hurt anyone the way that I felt I was. Always to be there for people who I cared for. But when I said that out loud I realized just how impractical that was. I couldn’t possibly be there for everyone I was only human and though it may have been an honorable desire I put too much of my identity in it. So when I was hurt by people or I inevitably hurt others it ate me up inside, I held onto it. My expectations of others and myself were much too high. Though I longed to be a good friend I failed multiple friends over the years, though I longed to be supportive in every way I just couldn’t always be everything that everyone needed me to be.

I told Ana that at the table, catching my breath in between, pressing the napkin against my face in an attempt to quell the tears erupting from my eyes. “I have to let it go.” I said. “The identity I put on myself. The fear, the shame, I felt so much shame and it’s time to let it go.”

A few loved ones came to say goodbye to Bingley on his last weekend and I’m very grateful for those friends who stepped in at his final moments, offering their condolences. When the day arrived a sweet vet came to our door with only a leather bag, like one you’d see a doctor or midwife carry in an old movie.

She greeted us warmly and pet Bingley. He brought her his toys we’d recently bought him. Bingley was highly food motivated, so when he stopped eating weeks earlier we knew something was wrong.

Our vet diagnosed him with a splenic tumor with a very low chance of survival. Surgery at his age was more for us than for him and that if he was unable to eat anything or if he collapsed it was time to say our goodbyes. Over the weeks we watched him deteriorate. Though he tried his best to look ok we knew our boy. He was shedding and producing an overwhelming amount of dander which he usually did when he was stressed or anxious. He had little to no appetite and he groaned in the evenings if he did eat anything. His belly swelled and he would grumble through the night, unable to get comfortable. He had no more interest in playing tug of war which he’d always loved to do. It was his time, there was little doubt. But no dog owner wants to admit that it is time.

The vet who came to our home was incredibly kind. She told us that it was better a month too soon than a day too late. We didn’t want to find ourselves in an emergency situation especially with Felicity around. (Processing alot through my writing, there’ll be more on Felicity’s experience later.) She said they wanted to see the dogs doing ok, still grabbing their toys, they wanted to see them before they were at a point of real suffering. When we told her his symptoms she reassured us that we knew our dog well.

I want to capture this event in my writing so I’ll end this here because this is already alot!