The curious waiting of grief to pass
How long will it take for grief to loosen its grip?
On Christmas Eve 2024, my 6 year old Bluey’s partner passed over the Rainbow Bridge, if only it were that easy to explain where he has gone, as old as he was, existence won’t last forever, love can.
Every morning and evening I find her edged by the gate, waiting for his return; she sleeps in spaces he lay (holes in the garden bed where bulbs bloomed), drinks from his bowl and has chosen his favourite toy as her new must have.
It took two weeks for the cracks in my heart to widen enough to let the tears flow, over the shower floor when my 3 years and 4 month old son lost a battle we could not win, to a mid brain glioma. It was a pain no word can describe, literally.
There is widow if your partner dies, orphan if a parent leaves this world and you alone, there is no word to describe the death of a child. It’s an inconceivable suffering and no greater or less than the stealing the warmth in your heart, the rise in your smile, the dance in your step. Death is coming for all of us and it meets us in places when we are still alive, it hurts like frigg’n hell.
Before Gypsy was gifted with surprise to say the least, on my 50th birthday, there was Tigger. An undersized red and Blue Heeler, runt of his litter, known for cleverness despite his size; of stunning pure Blue and Red Cattle Dog parents, only Tigger was both.
Tigger was the hardest dog to keep in the yard, he moved concrete (yes concrete) blocks to make escaping an art form, with one purpose, to demonstrate his loyalty until I pulled into the driveway.
We tried it all, one day left to play in the safeness of the backyard, with his fierce determination he scaled a new fence and for first and only time and his last, he left the verandah. I was speechless as we lay him to rest, my eyes still swell all these years later. The wound has healed, the scar hurts to touch.
As a human, there are words, I said the F word a lot in my head those days and on metaphorical mountain tops where I screamed it with every ounce I could find. Somedays I couldn’t speak at all, eat or sleep, I wanted to lay without disturbance.
The only language I have right now, today with Gypsy Blue, is my observations and response to the lack luster from her eyes, the stillness of a jiggling tail, change in sleep patterns, lethargy, sensitivity and clinginess. No need to add anxiety to diagnose depression, this is a Blue Heeler, anxious is their middle name.
Grief was written on her heart, from the moment Stanley no longer entered the gate. As a human I have the benefit of words; I can visit the Vet, absorb as much information as possible and distract Gypsy like the behaviour analyst in me knows how; with positive reinforcement and long walks where time passes faster, where the distance between gone and welcome back lessens; although the refusal of training treats (never refused) tells me this is longer than predictions can summarise or medication could repair.
What do they think about, dogs, when they grieve?
What part of their body aches for what was and isn’t anymore?
There are no signs of denial in the unwillingness to eat for days after he no longer came home, she just lay down and ceased the will to move without him. No one told her those patronising, pathetic excuses for understanding, as I had been instructed without request, to ‘move on’ and ‘let go’. Dogs do what must be done, they feel the feels and hold their grief for the agony it is, to never see someone you loved again. They search and look in places they’ve been and cease to give up, even if we told them so.
There is no anger in her bark or bargaining to wish him here, to beg, no pleading or chair to sit in to pour out what hurts. Although depressed she is, in a state, those who see animals as anything other than sentinel beings, have failed to contemplate.
In this life lived of curiosity, is it the Blue Heeler in her, the loyal and heavy heart, never give in or up (stubborn as a Mallee bull), driving the instincts to sit by the gate until he returns?
In Guy Hull’s book ‘The Dogs that Made Australia’ our uniquely Australian Cattle Dog, the Blue Heeler, bred in the early 1800’s from English descent (to take on the work of herding cattle at Darktook Station), became the first in a breeding experiment with the Dingo; believed to be why Heelers are known as either Blue or Red today, with the two coats, thick or fine.
Some claim it was the Blue Merle or speckled Collie, others the Kelpie, today her name is Gypsy and nowhere in her breeding does it describe the results, of the 2014 fMRI studies, revealing how closely dogs and humans are in experiencing emotions. In 2020, Karl and colleagues extended the fMRI findings, by defining the attachment and behavioural preferences of canines with familiar humans. As someone who knows this agony all too well, it breaks my heart to see her head between her paws, eyes fixed to the gate, it took me a long many years to open and touch many memories enough to become reminders in my dreams.
Long before technology provided more answers, there was evidence in the stories, like Hachiko, laying at the train station in the same spot for nine years, longing for his owners return. None more heart wrenching than the 1970’s legend of Australian ‘Red Dog’ inspired by Koko, who wandered the wild country of Western Australia from Perth to the Pilbara (1,280km), searching for his owner John Stazzonelli, following his death in a motorbike accident,1975. I hope and like to imagine Koko joined John following after heart failure in 2012.
Some report dogs can grieve from 2 to 6 months, this obviously contradicts the reality of Koko’s experience and my own.
So maybe it’s worth contemplating, staying curious and open to the idea grief has no end, free of judgement, criticism or expectations, let them grieve.
What do we really know about how long love can last, when you can no longer hold it’s hand or lick it’s face, tug-o-war over the same toys or push ahead to lead the walk.
We not speak the same language or share the same DNA, let alone species. However, I do know what healed my aching heart and I can share with her my lessons.
1. Maintain routine, I see you and I know you love our walks, we remember him together.
You don’t have to let go or move on. It’s not true.
Comfort and reassurance go a lot further than ignorance.
Mental stimulation doesn’t steal the memories, it helps to remind you your brain can do more than grieve (You are the cleverest Bluey I’ve known).
To everyone else - Let them grieve. Permission to grieve, as long as it takes. Those without judgement, friends and family who know, a picture of a thousand words can touch a wound where the scar may have healed, it still hurts just the same.
I’ll sit with you at the gate Gyps if you need me to.
I’ll walk and we don’t need to talk like humans; feel compelled to fill the silences.
We can take long drives and visit the places we spent together, that last trip to the nearest coastline to smell the sea and drive as close to the waves as the sand would allow.
I’ll be here with you Gyps, the surprise you were and I didn’t need at the time, I can see we need each other, now.
I see you. I’ve got you.
Rest in peace Stanley, we miss you.
