It was the best of days and it was the worst of days. Sunday 4th March 2018. My birthday. Turned 42, no biggie, but a day in which I felt really content and happy with the world, with my world. A morning in bed, some writing in the garden room, dinner with girlies then a kiddie birthday party to go to. Home to the loveliest little celebration with my family.
A bottle of shampoo from little Aimée, a bright purple lipstick from our Jess, and a “NOW Mum” CD. We all sat around for my lovely chocolate cake and made little speeches about what we were thankful for. Our little doggie Suzy was there as usual and on high crumb alert!
Girls in bed, off to chipper with Suzy, a little walk with her, then home. Watched First Dates and kept a nice piece of burger for Suzy as I had done many times before. I called her out of her bathroom and gave it to her straight into her mouth. Her eyes widened which I took as excitement and she went into her bed to eat it. I sat on my phone reading birthday messages and texting about how amazing the recent snow had been for us to connect as a family.
Little did I know that at that very moment, my little Suzy was choking in her bed in the bathroom with no one to help her. I didn’t hear a thing, not even the bathroom door opening. Next thing I heard was shock from my husband and I looked to see Suzy sprawled out on the floor. We immediately crouched down beside her and tried desperately to help her, but soon realised that her heart had stopped and that it was too late.
I can honestly say that this was one of the most painful moments of my life. What started with a lovely long weekend connecting with family in the snow and a really special birthday had ended like a complete nightmare. The thought of having to tell the girls the next day when they had never known life without Suzy was heartbreaking.
After cleaning her, we wrapped her up and gently laid her body in her bed for one final night. What a surreal situation to be getting all these birthday messages on one hand and having our little Suzy lying dead in her bathroom at the same time. As I lay in bed that night, the guilt was just unbearable. My body and brain were literally in shock and I did not get a wink of sleep with the images of Suzy and what happened replaying over and over in my head:
“Suzy why did you have to leave us? Why didn’t I hear you? I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you when you were suffering alone my baby. I hope you heard me when I got to you. I hope you felt my loving touch as I gently cleaned your body. I hope you didn’t suffer. I hope you know how life will just never be the same without you”.
The last few days have been painful beyond words as we all try to come to terms with what happened. The day after was just a complete blur of sadness as we took the day off with the girls to honour Suzy’s passing. Although many moments were incredibly painful, I am proud of how we handled it with the kids. After they woke we brought them into the safe cocoon of our bed and gently told them what had happened to Suzy. Total shock. We gave them the choice to see Suzy and whilst they initially didn’t want to, they asked to say goodbye and touched her head under her blanket. Totally heartbreaking.
Our home and our lives were a myriad of emotions but all emotions were welcomed. Extra time lying together in bed. Sharing hugs with amazing people. I was so struck by the genuine compassion I felt from those around us when we shared our pain and our love for Suzy.
From pain comes peace. From vulnerability comes compassion. From having such an amazing doggie comes the meaning of life. Social connection. Surrounding yourself with those who make you feel good about the world, who value you as a special person, who ground you into the moment.
Suzy remained by my side that week and still does, I have no doubt of that. She arrived as a crazy puppy into our lives and taught me what it was like to love like a mammy, looking after her every need, even feeding her fresh chicken before bed! What I miss most was the unconditional love she gave me and the girls, her excited bum wiggles, her snoring whilst awake, her crazy antics, her gentleness, our super long walks, our cosy cuddles on the couch:
“Suzy you have enriched my life in ways that you’ll never know. You taught me the importance of NOW, of being present, of just being. You loved me no matter what and I loved you, even your farts! Feeling your collar in my pocket as you were being cremated and assembling all your special bits for your little shrine has been healing. I still feel you close to me, guiding really important decisions, helping me to help others, making things really clear. I’m so sorry this happened and I’d do anything to have you back. I need to accept you’re gone. From guilt comes forgiveness but that journey will take longer. I never ever want to forget that you were my very first baby”.
Mixed in with my grief was the terrible guilt that I had caused Suzy’s death. Thankfully a trusted friend drew my attention to the fact that my intentions in giving Suzy the last of my burger had been loving, and that it was so unlucky that this had been the tragic outcome. I came to realise that my throbbing guilt was my brain’s negativity bias working overtime almost as a way of punishing myself, not helped by the lack of sleep and the trauma of it all:
“We are all imperfect beings whose actions stem from a web of interdependent conditions that are much larger than ourselves. We don’t have to take our mistakes so personally. Paradoxically this understanding helps us to take more responsibility for our actions because we feel more emotionally secure” (Neff & Germer, 2019, The mindful self-compassion workbook).
In her talk “First the pain then the rising”, Glennon Doyle refers to grief as sacred: “Grief is the price of love. It’s the receipt we hold in the air to say to the world ‘Look, I paid the price for love’. And it’s often the only thing a person has left to prove they loved.”
So it turns out that a really painful emotion can serve the function of reminding us of what is most meaningful in our lives and offers us precious clues about what we most value going forward. Those who are grieving close relatives through illness may bond with others to champion a worthy cause. Others may be heartbroken at witnessing social injustices so will join with others to fight for their cause. Emotions lead us into action.
My vulnerability during those few weeks after Suzy died connected me with so many precious souls who had experienced something similar and supported me through it. My clients seemed to sense this openness in me too. It’s like the expression of vulnerability gently takes down the walls humans build to protect themselves. Sharing my pain helped me to find some light through the darkness and begin my journey of forgiveness for myself.
Grief has a lot to teach us if we let it. There don’t seem to be any shortcuts. Feeling it and moving through it helps us to heal at our own pace and connects us together.
Grief is truly the price we pay for love.
R.I.P. Suzy 4-3-18.
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