Grieving Laydee

“There is comfort in knowing that ‘in His hand is the life of every creature’ (Job 12:10), and that the One who created them is also the One who receives them.”

I process by writing - and writing and writing. 

Some of the things I wrote after losing my son Michael unexpectedly… even now, can bring me to my knees. There is something about grief and loss that draws out the most profound thoughts, things you didn’t even know were in you. It’s part of the way we process, I think. A kind of protection. A way of trying to make sense of something that, deep down, we know will never fully make sense.

Suffering is part of the Christian walk, like it or not. Jesus suffered, so why wouldn’t we? He told us plainly that there would be suffering. I’ve never understood those who present the Christian life as all butterflies and rainbows, because it isn’t. It’s real, it's raw, and at times it’s very hard. The difference is not whether we suffer, but how we suffer.

I find comfort in believing that all animals, and the breath of life within them, return to their Creator. That has brought me peace more than once. Years ago, we left a church after the pastor said there was nothing beyond this life for animals. He was also the same pastor who once said nothing good ever came out of the Old Testament. My husband didn’t sit quietly through that one. And rightly so. (See the above Job 12:10)

I suppose I’m rambling now, but it feels right to keep it real. This is where I am at. Sometimes you just have to let the words come - pounding them out, on my keyboard - letting them spill from my mind onto this page. Holding them in only makes the weight of loss heavier.

Right now, my husband is having a hard time. He was Laydee’s primary caretaker, because 75 lbs was hard for me to lift and maneuver.  We've been putting things away. I see his tears come, though he doesn’t fully break down. He steps away instead. I give him his space. His time is in the early morning before he brings me my coffee.  We all grieve differently.

I am overwhelmed by a wave of nausea that seems to linger, while an unshakeable fatigue weighs heavily throughout the day. My thoughts keep spiraling back to the last day, an experience I wish to push aside, if only for a moment. I've wept until my eyes feel raw, the burning sensation a harsh reminder of my broken heart.  I hold onto the hope that each day will bring some measure of healing, but the ache in my heart remains relentless and painful, a constant shadow that follows me wherever I go.

Why did I let myself open my heart to a dog so completely? Reflecting on it now, I have no regrets at all. It beautifully illustrates the profound connection that exists between humans and animals. In those moments of her wagging tail and soulful brown eyes, I realize just how truly blessed I was - to have a dog that truly loved me back - 

So I write...

Because the thoughts and words have to go somewhere.