The one year anniversary of Murdock’s departure proved to be more difficult than I could have imagined. For many reasons, some of which I wrote about in my last blog, it was the worst day yet. The pain of losing him, the realization that I have to live life without him, the feeling that he is so far away, the confusion about how to recognize the day. But what began gnawing at me as I approached that one year mark, and what actually made the day so difficult, were the expectations of finality I felt enter my thoughts.
It seems culturally ingrained that the one year mark is supposed to mean something; a time to take off the black clothes of mourning and resume life as it was. A time when emotions for our deep loss should be more tempered and we are defensive disclosing the profound sadness we continue to feel. To be clear, no one has ever expressed those thoughts to me – no one has outwardly judged my grief or its unique, grace-filled timing. I just felt it. And so, the one year mark made me feel like suddenly, everything was supposed to be different. I was supposed to leave Murdock behind, move on with life, and say a final goodbye.
Except I can’t. I won’t.
Day 365 in the grief journey is no different than day 364 or 366. Your heart has no idea whether it broke a month ago a year ago or five years ago. Yes, as the days pass, grief changes – but the path is on a timeline of its own forging, not matched with the convenience of a calendar.
While I absolutely believe this, on day 365, my conviction couldn’t seem to overcome the “shoulds” that are apparently embedded in me. I have never allowed “shoulds” to guide my feelings; I have protected my grief like a mama bear protects her cub. But on day 365, I failed.
When Murdock was here, I put no guardrails on my love for him. I scheduled life around him. I lived to make him happy. Every time we went to the vet, I told the staff “I would mortgage my house and everything in it for him.” Living this boundless love made my life complete. It gave me deep joy and profound meaning. My grief is the way I love him now. I owe it to him, to our life together, and to myself, to grieve just as I love him. Without guardrails, without calendars, without imposed expectations. Boundless.
What were your feelings on the one year anniversary of your best friend’s passing?
