Grief Works

We brought Bonnie’s ashes home last Friday. No one had really said a word about her from the time we got back in town (although our return was filled with stress & the drama of my truck breaking down at the restaurant where we stopped for dinner on the way home from the airport; it had to be towed to a dealership 2 days later *ugh*) until then. I didn’t want to make anyone who wasn’t ready to talk extra sad - I think a few of us were afraid of the grief dam bursting - but picking “her” up crushed all the eggshells we were tiptoeing on. We finally talked about her as a family. I just wanted to be able to freely say her name... For years, it was just her & me while JB was at work, before the kids were born & then while they were at school; I spent my days talking to *her* - “Where’s Bonnie Bonnie? Come Bonnie! Bonnie in the closet? Bonnie on the stairs? Bonnie, come! Bonnie B good girl! Bonnie jump up? Bonnie wanna lay down? Whatcha thinking, B?” She may have loved JB the most, preferred sleeping with Will, & fiercely protected Annelise...but she was my daily best friend. ❤️

I have wanted to absolutely wail & mourn hysterically over her, but save Friday’s vet pick up, that kind of grief expression just isn’t manifesting. For the 4th time in my life losing an integral member of my immediate family (my Dad, my 1st dog who “raised” me, my Grandmommy, & now Bonnie) I wasn’t there at the passing – I was a full airplane flight away, (except my Dad – I was at college.) I never sat vigil by a final deathbed or squeezed a final hand/paw... By the time I arrived back home, it was finished. Part of me is very thankful for this, because it does insulate my heart, and it makes the way I naturally handle grief – detachment – much easier. But it also makes grief harder to release, too, because it doesn’t seem as real. My dad has been gone 21 years now, and to this day, I could still make myself choose to believe that he’s just at the house I grew up in. Like I could call, if I wanted, but everyone knows I hate the phone. Detaching & also having a naturally sanguine personality make it so hard to just let myself break down in grief, even when I desperately, consciously want to. I’m left wanting to wail, not being able to, and feeling awkwardly stuck in a bizarre, uncomfortable new reality. Thanking God that He’s gifted me with the ability to soldier on through extreme circumstances, and at the same time, praying to be able to release my churning grief inside in a healthy way at the most appropriate time.