18 months ago today, the lights went out in my life. I don’t stumble (as much) as I make my way around this darkened world; I have grown accustomed to it.
18 months seems like another milestone in my grief. Perhaps I have reached the point at which I am no longer supposed to define time in months – that I am far enough down the road of grief that I should not be counting in 30 day increments. I have had a difficult time at every milestone since Murdock’s departure – from the first (my first walk without him the morning after he went to heaven) all the way through today, 18 months later. But an even more difficult “milestone” is when there are no more milestones to dread. When I have lived enough life without him that I no longer experience things alone for the first time.
It feels like forever since I last saw Murdock’s brown eyes or heard his dramatic sighs or felt the soft fur above his nose. It feels like forever since I felt my heart swell just by looking at my best friend, or laughed because of his constant antics, or felt the peace from knowing that all the world was right, just because we were together. It feels like forever since I felt like me, the best version of me.
The hardest part of profound loss is not the pain of departure, but the emptiness that is left behind and the journey we have to make without our furry soulmate. I miss my sweet boy with every ounce of my being. But I miss our life together even more, and time has only compounded my grief for the loss of that life that I loved.
I think that most of us have an experience that teaches us that time does not heal all wounds. Time does not always alleviate grief. For me, as I walk further and further away from my life with Murdock, it grows more difficult. I fear that the pictures in my mind’s eye will grow fuzzier. I wonder what memories have already faded away. I dread that a day will come when I will no longer shed tears for my boy. I realize that I am no match for time, but that does not make me stop wishing I could pause it, or go backwards. It does not make the walk forward I have to traverse without my soulmate any easier.
I keep a tight grip on my grief experiences; I don’t want to be “over it.” (Whatever that means.) It does not drag me down, it does not prevent me from living my life. It is assigned a sacred space in my soul, to reflect the importance of my life with Murdock, who he was, and who he made me be. Whether or not he is physically here, he is still the greatest gift of my life. If grief is how I get to love him now, then I will never let it go, whether it has been 18 months or 18 years. And that is okay.
