Understanding the Depth of Grief

Recently, I lost my dog Ewok, and the pain of her absence feels overwhelming. It’s as if a part of me has drifted away, searching for a glimpse of her in puppy heaven.

Each night, I whisper “goodnight” to her, fully aware that she is no longer there. I often find myself dreaming of our time together—holding her close and playing. Yet, in the morning, when I reach out to pet her, my hand meets a pillow or my husband’s arm instead. I close my eyes, wishing to pretend she’s still there.

Coming home is especially heart-wrenching when I don’t hear her excited little paws running to greet me. I can almost hear her tiny footsteps, only to be met with the silence of a vacant room. Grief is unpredictable; it fluctuates in intensity and has no set timeline for when it will end.

I often question how long I will endure this before I feel overwhelmed. I’ve discussed these feelings with my therapist, and thankfully, my medication remains the same for now.

The weight of this sorrow has affected my ability to write. Even my sense of humor has faded—so much so that I was taken aback when someone suggested I should try stand-up comedy at a recent dinner event.

When I’m in a good place, such remarks don’t catch me off guard. People often think funny individuals should perform stand-up, which is amusing given that I struggle to read poetry in public without medication and a towel to wipe my sweaty palms.

Picture me on stage, delivering punchlines—unless you enjoy watching someone awkwardly fumble, it wouldn’t be entertaining. The audience can only endure watching someone sweat profusely and sway uncomfortably for so long before they’re compelled to check their phones.

I’ve lost track of time. In the past, awkward moments prompted polite gazes downward or quick drink refills. Nowadays, however, people are more inclined to capture those moments on video and share them online.

Reflecting on it, I wonder if many in AA would have stayed sober longer if smartphones had existed earlier. Instead of focusing on their own struggles, they could have recorded others’ missteps. But in this age, it seems people can multitask—staring into their phones while simultaneously drinking and recording.

Anyway, I just wanted to reach out and explain my absence. You might be wondering where I’ve been—“Did she finally stop neglecting her family? Has she found a real job? Or has she fallen into a coma, waiting for someone to help her write a romantic comedy?”

It’s none of those things. I’m still in the depths of mourning for my dog. That is indeed where I am. I’m also busy redecorating my home, tidying up my garage, and shooting some basketballs.

Writing only deepens my longing for my furry friend, my beloved Ewok. The pain of losing a pet is intense, my friends, but I know it’s part of the process.

Thanks to editor T. Kent Jones and his wonderful dog. 🐕 Brand art by Gael MacLean

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