Another installment in the saga of Simon

Nope, it's not over, these rants about Simon the four legged mutt. He meant too much for it to be over quickly. Every day is an adjustment, coming to grips with his absence.

Simon, black lab mongrel wonder dog extraordinaire, died July 3, 2008. He was a few months past celebrating 10 years with me. He was a good dog.

I could leave it at that but I find I have much more to say on the subject. Simon wasn't just good, he was awesome; I feel blessed and loved that he was a part of my life.

I've taken to telling people that "we lost Simon" rather than saying he died. I thought I was just taking a cop out, at first, but this evening I realized that this phrase rather accurately reflects my feelings. To say "Simon died" has this ring of finality in my ears. I concede that in many respects death is final. And while I do believe that in my perfect Heaven a young, arthritis and cancer free Simon will be there to offer his companionship again, that's not my point. I'm not done with Simon's death. I'm not done with his life. It's not over, not in a final way.

All of this is terribly reminiscent of my mother's death. Sure, some will think that I am wrong for considering the death of a human and a dog on similar levels. Those people don't get how much Simon meant to me. Grief is a deep emotional journey. And the loss of Simon is just as deep as the loss of my mother. This journey is proving to be radically different, though. The undeniable fact is that the loss of my mother has shaped me as significantly our time together shaped me. So far, the same is proving true with Simon. This time around, though, I am able to be shockingly more honest with myself.

Have you seen those 1 800 petmeds commercials? Last week, one came on the TV and it made me cry. The other day, I laid myself down on the floor at the end of the couch where Simon used to hang out. I was too empty to cry, then. Now, tears are streaming as I think of him and try to feel my way through it all.

And all of that is ok. I am, at varying points, empty, angry, lonely, shocked, accepting, and much more. I am not "ok." I am not "just fine." But these are good things to feel. I'm taking that grief caged in my lungs and I'm letting it out in long exhales of emotion.

I believe that you never really "get over" a significant loss. You just learn to cope with it, to put it in a place that you can live with and function and sometimes be happy. I believe that grief teaches us about joy and vice versa. This all means that no matter how much time goes by sometimes that loss leaps out of your soul and brings you to your knees. I'm beginning to believe that what matters even more is what you choose to do while your there.

I choose to be honest. I've lost a loving companion. I miss him every day. I ache for him and myself and all the other people who lost him too. And I will learn to live with it, it will just take me awhile.