Grief

Grief is a funny thing. It makes you want to laugh when you should be serious; cry when you should be laughing; and feel that screaming, throwing things, and sitting quietly all go together quite naturally. It makes getting up in the middle of the night to shove pills - and cheese or peanut butter or hot dogs...or anything that will work- down the dog's throat is normal.

I know there are stages of grief - anger, denial, acceptance, whatever - and I think there are stages of pre-grief as well. In these last few weeks Michael and I have been everywhere on the emotional map. We've been utterly devastated and hopeful in the same hour. We've been angry and then resigned the next hour. We have been through every stage of grieving...sometimes in one day. Its like grief showed up before it needed to. Maggie is still hanging in there, yet we've been grieving her for days. It makes me wonder what affect our  emotions have had on her.

I look at Duke, our almost-9-year-old mastiff mix and know he understands about as well as a dog can. He looks sad. He gargoyles: body on the sofa, legs dangling off the front, head drooped down between his front paws, eyes trained on the floor. He has seen all of this before. He has outlasted "Uncle Milton," "Aunt Hershey," and "Aunt Bailey." He's seen us process the loss of three golden retrievers. He knows what it looks like. He seems to sense something. He kisses Maggie a bit more, for no reason. He lays down on the sofa with her, when normally he would kick her off and have the couch to himself. I feel like he's looking out for her. So, if he is taking cues from us, I know she is too.

So we continue through this process. Michael and I know what is coming...eventually. Some hours of some days I think we'll make it to Christmas. I think we'll have another winter together of watching Maggie take giant bites of snow off the patio chairs. Some hours, especially in the middle of the night, I wonder if we'll make it to next week. And some hours I am content to have today, and to make the most of it. I don't know how many tomorrows we'll have together.