I am not sure how it can be four years. Four years ago today Murdock went to heaven and the lights went out in my world.  And four years later, I am still feeling my way through a much darker life.

Before Murdock’s departure, when I was deep in the churn of anticipatory grief, I imagined what life would be like without him. How would I fill the time once spent on walks and worry? How would it feel to come home to an empty house? How would I endure holidays and his birthday? But my imagination only went so far as the weeks and months ahead – not years. Certainly not four years. 

But here I am. I suppose I am glad I didn’t have any notions of what it would be like here; I am not failing any baseless expectations I created. But honestly, I am surprised. I am surprised that the ache is just as strong today as it has been for the last 1,460 days. And that I don’t have a better understanding of this new version of me. And that the twists and turns of this different life, without Murdock, still confound me. 

To know me is to know that I am a planner. Things in my control, out of my control; big things, inconsequential things; my tasks for the day, my goals from now until forever – I plan. That is why it is even more curious that I gave no thought to this time, when losing my best friend is now years behind me. I endlessly ruminated about what Murdock’s departure would mean in practical terms – but not that I would have to create an entirely new me, and a new life to go along with her. It is not just time that we have to fill when a soulmate departs – it is a life, a purpose – and that is the difficulty. Our soulmates, furry or human, often come into our lives unexpectedly, and with them comes a clearer path to walk and a meaning assigned to the journey. Without them, we have to rely on another divine connection, or even scarier, ourselves.

I was driving through a storm recently, the kind where you can see nothing but the road directly ahead. Trying to pull off was too dangerous; I just had to keep going. So I white-knuckled it down the highway, not exceeding more than 30 miles per hour. I trained my eyes on the road directly in front of me and pressed on, slowly. Four years later, I feel like that is what I am still doing. 

But, there was another time that I set out on a road I could not see. I never had a dog before I adopted Murdock almost nineteen years ago. As much as I prepared, I had no idea what I was in for (he didn’t either). Day by day, little by little, I learned how to take care of this tiny creature as he discovered the world and we built a life together. Those slow, unsteady steps gradually became more certain, and led me down a path that became my greatest adventure, deepest joy and most profound love.

Four years after losing my best friend, I am still not sure where I am going, or where the road of my not-so-new life is leading. That is not easy. But becoming Murdock’s mom showed me that you don’t have to have all the answers, you don’t have to know where the path will lead. Go slowly. You will get to where you are meant to be.