"Grief shatters."

Glennon Doyle wrote, “Grief shatters,” and I think that sums it up pretty perfectly. I would have missed my dog no matter when I lost him. But, it’s the way he died. I thought it would be peaceful; natural. I thought he’d slow down, gradually, in the coming years and that I’d watch him age into an old man. I thought we had more time. (See my blog post, "Bane: Shot to Death by a Concealed Carrier" for the full story.)

I keep thinking about the ways in which this experience will reshape me. As I heal and reassemble, I can feel the pieces of who I am shifting to a new formation. The wiring in my brain is configured differently and I’m grappling with which beliefs to hold onto and which to let go. 

My view of the world is different from what it was ten days ago - before Bane died. It’s not so easy to believe that, “things will all work out,” or that, “you get out of life what you put into it,” or that “the world is fair and full of possibility.” Maybe the world is terrible, dark, and full of pain. Maybe I was naive in my beliefs, before. And, maybe no matter what you do to be “good” or “safe,” there’s no guarantee of what’s coming back to you. 

I’ve been beating myself up for not protecting Bane better - for not being a better dog-mom; a better keeper. I should have been more prepared, I think. I should have been more vigilant. I hate to use the word “trauma” because, nowadays, it’s become so overused; such a “buzz-word.” But, the fear-response I feel - the one that’s tempting me toward hypervigilance - is the result of exactly that. My risk-awareness is on high-alert after watching Bane die in such a violent, unexpected way. It would be so easy - so understandable - to lean into my neuroticism and to allow my nervous system to recalibrate my rational thinking mind to a new “normal” where all I do is lay in wait of the inevitable danger lurking around each corner. 

But, I don’t want to live that way. I don’t want to be afraid of everything. I don’t want to feel nervous all the time. I don’t want to assume the worst from the world. Living that way seems exhausting to me and I know that I’d be unhappier if I chose to let fear, second-guessing, and negativity rule me. Besides - even with every precaution and safety measure in place, nothing is foolproof 100% of the time. As the saying goes, “You can do everything right, and still fail.” That’s especially easy to believe after watching your dog get shot to death, in your own driveway, in broad daylight.  

I don’t know exactly how I’ll be different by the time the dust settles and the various parts of me are done healing. But, I keep telling myself, I want to stay open. I want to remain loving, understanding, compassionate, and brave. I don’t want to hide behind walls of emotional armor, or become pickled in anger, or curl up in a deep snuggle with pain. If it’s going to rearrange me, I want to allow this awful, unimaginable thing to change me for the better. I know who I am at my core and nothing will compel me to abandon her.  

What I find myself continuing to come back to is this:

Terrible things can happen, no matter what. No matter how far away I hide myself; No matter how much armor I wrap around my heart; No matter how meekly I live my life; No matter how much risk I avoid. I will never have a crystal ball, and I will never be able to shield myself, completely, from pain. I can choose to risk nothing; trust nothing; love nothing - and tragedy will still, sometimes, find me. It’s a basic truth of life. And, if that’s the case, what’s the point in hiding at all? The world may not always be a “fair” place, but it does tend to be a balanced one. If terrible, unthinkable things can change life in an instant, then incredible, wonderful things can, too.