It has been one year since I lost my beloved souldog, Stanley.
I’ve read and wrote grief from every possible angle, attempting to box it into a knowable corner.
In one year, I have found only that grief is amorphous, endless. It evades proper definition.
The best writers thoughts on grief calm me. Quotes that resonate with me most are succinct.
Joan Didion, on losing her husband John to heart failure: “I remember thinking that I needed to discuss this with John.”
Charles Bukowski, on losing Jane: “I say anything that moved like that or knew my name could never die in the common verity of dying.”
What else can be done to understand grief but to acknowledge our inability to accept loss?
I wake every morning without him. But my hand still searches for his big block head. My heart leaps when I return home, expecting to see him waiting at the door.
I know one thing more about grief than what I knew a year ago:
Grief can never fade the joy of our brief time together.
Still.
I just want my dog.
