I had always learned that shock was one of the “stages” of grief. (I don’t give much credence to grief having “stages”.) I thought that I had escaped that feeling – Murdock was a 15 year old lab who had cancer and debilitating physical issues. Losing him was no surprise, which my long anticipatory grief experience made clear. So, in my mind, I checked off that box – along with anger and guilt – one less feeling to have to overcome.
I was wrong.
Lately, I have come to realize that shock in the grief experience can have different meanings beyond the initial disbelief of loss. It can also describe the times you step back from your life, or look at your empty home, and cannot comprehend that your greatest love, your deepest joy, your soulmate, is gone.
I have had these feelings creep up only recently – nearly a year since Murdock departed. I have moments when the realization that he is no longer (physically) with me nearly takes my breath away. How can it possibly be? How can the biggest presence, my best friend, the center of my life, be . . . gone? I have not laid eyes on Murdock in 11 months, but at times the shock still hits me as if he were here yesterday.
Animals seem to live life more fully than humans. There is no pretense, no complication, no confusing feelings. Walks and treats and play and naps. Simple. Maybe that is why it is so easy to love them – and why they fill such a tremendous place in our lives. A place that feels cavernously empty when they are no longer here to fill it.
When I look around my home, I have memories of Murdock in nearly every corner of every room (except for two rooms he never entered because he was afraid of the floor vents by the doors). I remember him taking a nap in dozens of spots in my yard. I recall birthdays with him, holidays with him, and just regular days with him. He was ALWAYS there. How is it possible that all of those memories are just memories now – and that there won’t be any more?
That is shock too. Not just surprise at their departure; but the incomprehension that they are gone. I am not sure that ever goes away.
Have you had unexpected moments of shock during your grief experience?
