VOICES
by Logan Lynn
In The Trenches
Grief. It's What's For Dinner
My beloved Pomeranian companion of the past ten
years died suddenly a little over two months ago and
I have yet to make heads or tails of the whole thing.
Truthfully, I’ve been carrying his cremated body
around in a tiny tin box ever since, sleeping with him
next to me at night, and am so far having a really hard
time letting him go.
During the first few weeks after his death I was in a state of sheer panic
around his absence. For over a decade, silence in the house meant little
dude was up to some sort of mischief or that he was in trouble, so to be
suddenly surrounded by this new, impenetrable quiet has been unsettling.
I found myself calling for him in the night, looking for him all over the
house in the morning, and wait-
ing to hear the pitter-patter of his
paws on the hardwood floor as I
opened the front door or walked
to the kitchen, but he is gone.
As it turns out, I had a great deal
of purpose wrapped up in taking
care of this tiny creature, and I’m
finding that in many ways I was
dependent on the love I received
from him in return. He was the
only consistent thing in my life
for the past decade, and with-
out him around everything just
feels harder. I have yet to make it
through a full day without some
sort of tearful breakdown and
was unable to control said emo-
tional outbursts at all until very
recently. It sounds crazy that
an animal could make me lose
my mind like this, but he was so
much more than a dog to me. For many years he was my child, my fam-
ily, the only reason I got out of bed in the morning, and the only reason I
came home at night…so to call him my “pet” minimizes the depth of our
relationship.
A few weeks back while I was talking to a close friend about my inability
to let Dutch go, he challenged me that maybe it was feeling too hard to do
because I wasn’t actually supposed to be doing it. He suggested that, in-
stead of working so hard to let him go, I should learn to hold onto Dutch in
new ways. His body is gone, that much is certain. All that’s left is this box
of ashes…which isn’t all that comforting when I stop and think about it.
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So, I took his advice. I began to look for Dutch again, minus the feeling of
panic those initial searches held after he passed. I started to focus on all
the ways he is still here with me instead of mourning all the ways he is not,
and suddenly he was everywhere again. We walked by a baby Pom on the
street the other day who had the same goofy sideways gait my guy always
had and I was transported back. It had been so long since I had seen him,
and this short glimpse felt like such a gift. I passed another the following
day who was trying to chew his way through his leash; something my little
one had managed to do with many leashes over the years. Once more I felt
him close to me and we were, in that moment, together again.
I know that grief has to run its course, and I know that it takes time. It is
my hope that, in missing him, I can continue to find my dearly departed
friend in nature, in my interactions with other animals, and in the silence
that has replaced his noise in my life. His body may be gone, but his spirit
is not. Our love was real, and I
will carry that with me forever.
Grief is tricky business. There’s
a fine line between letting one-
self feel the pain of loss and be-
coming completely taken over
by depression and despair. In
the end, I have not been able
to swing this one alone. It has
taken a lot of therapy, support,
and countless hours crying
out my feelings to get to the
point of being able to function
again, and I am still working on
getting there.
One of the most painful truths
about love is the impermanence
of life, but the experience of
someday losing everything that
matters to us is something we
Logan Lynn
all share. I don’t regret giving
my heart to Dutch, even if it’s been broken as a result. When you love
someone, you risk the heartache that comes along with it; but choosing to
protect yourself from the pain of loss by not allowing love in is so much
worse. Be brave, love fiercely, and know that nothing is permanent. There
is so much freedom in that truth.
Logan Lynn writes In The Trenches for Just Out. He is a Portland based musician, activist,
writer, and is a regular contributor to The Huffington Post.
Reach him at Logan@JustOut.com
August 2012