The Timing of Things

On Monday of this week our family said goodbye to our sweet, human-like, friend to all, Chester.  He was only five.  He lived a short dog life, but in the end his young liver gave out and he could no longer continue on.   It was heart-breaking to say the least.

The grieving process is interesting to me.  The four of us couldn’t be more different in how we’ve handled letting go of our four-legged family member. One has held onto all things Chester (toys, collar, tags–any tangible reminder).  One has been quite strong, only breaking down the moment the news was shared.  One has shed a lot of tears and wondered if enough was done to save Chester’s life.  And one of us had to leave the scene for a while, regroup, and come back.

We’ve received phone calls, texts, cards, and gifts from dear friends who knew we needed to lean on them.  I’ve poured over the words in each card.  I’ve re-read texts a half-dozen times.  I’ve played voice messages over and over.  I can’t express how comforted I’ve felt.

And just when I thought I was doing all right, a stranger strongly suggested our family attend grief counseling for pet loss.

There it is.  That unsolicited advice from someone who has not earned the right to speak into my life.

In that moment my tears dried.  And my sadness turned to anger.  I think anger is a part of the grief process, but is it supposed to be brought on by words from well-meaning strangers?

I don’t think so.

Grief is tough.  It’s unique to each individual.  And there’s really no right or wrong way to grieve.  It just happens.  And it has to be done.

I’m going to tell you something.  You will have an opinion.  But I ask you to keep it to yourself.  To remember that this process is unique for every individual.  It may not be how you would do things.  And honestly, it’s not how I thought I would do things.

When Chester’s health problems started a few months ago, we were optimistic.  He was under the care of a great doctor, and we thought he was improving.  We decided to start the process of adopting a rescue dog.  We wanted Chester to have a buddy to live out his many healthy years.  We wanted to be a two-dog family.

We narrowed down our search last week.  Found the perfect breed for our family.  And then we received the results of Chester’s blood tests.  No improvement.  He really wasn’t getting better.  The outlook was grave.

Now what?

I’m not really sure, but it’s possible we will welcome a new furry friend, or two, into our home very soon.

Chester taught us how much we love dogs.  He opened our hearts and minds with a great capacity to love all things canine.  And we will carry that love on.  Chester set a high bar.  He will never be replaced.  But I think he would be open to sharing a family and a home that was once his.

Thank you for all you taught us, Chester, including that the timing of things in life may not be what we ever expected.