Grief can be a happy sad, too…
Our family buried a best friend last week. I’m pretty sure there is nothing worse than losing a dog. Bailey Boo was once one of two tiny puppies found in a cardboard box on the side of the road in Burleson, Texas by a colleague of mine, 13 years ago to the day this week. She spent the first two weeks living with me under the sofa, scared to death. She wasn’t a fan of other dogs, and never really lost that instinctual anxiety and fear for anyone she didn’t know, but she was fiercely loyal to the humans she trusted, especially me. We never got her DNA tested to find out what kind of dog she really was, but I already knew. She was the kind of dog that lived to please and make you happy. She loved her walks and for a while she was my best running mate, who was infamous for literally “pooping on the run”. She used her voice to sing classical music with us until she lost her hearing last year.
She headed over the rainbow bridge last week as she was losing a battle with bladder cancer. The doctor told me there was nothing that could be done to treat her. She had a blockage in her urine tract that eventually made her unable to relieve herself. She was uncomfortable and in pain, and there was nothing long term we could do to fix it. The veterinarian made her comfortable so I could bring her home for the night to the family and we could love on her and say goodbye one last time. I called my husband in tears, sad for the loss of our old girl but also worried about our kids. Would they fall apart with sadness? Would I be able to comfort them? Had I ever had to handle grief like this at the ages of 6 and 10? I couldn’t think of any except my grandfather’s death at 6, and I don’t remember being told a lot, I wasn’t taken to his funeral. If I was falling apart, how would they be able to handle this? How would I guide them?
It was a hard 24 hours for all of us, but I did my best to talk to my girls about why Bailey was suffering and how we didn’t want her to hurt anymore. We talked about what cancer was, and in very simple terms what it was doing to her body. I printed a photo of the girls with Bailey and they wrote notes all over it to bury with her. We also buried her with her favorite bone that she didn’t like, but loved to steal from the puppy (April Mae), and one of her favorite blankets. The next morning when the time had come to say goodbye, my husband and I took the girls to a friends and then went to hold sweet Bailey as she crossed the rainbow bridge. We elected to keep her body and for a private burial on our family land in East Texas.
My husband left before the rest of us so he could get her in the ground and covered before we arrived. We built a cross to mark her grave, and Nola insisted on flatting the dirt on top to make it smooth and pretty for Bailey. Nola and I dug up some wildflowers to put on top of her grave. We also plan to make a special stepping stone to memorialize our best fur friend, and the girls want to decorate the cross with special messages.
I’m pleased and proud that we were able to navigate death with our kids with some ease and grace. We didn’t shroud anything in mystery, but instead broke down the truth into manageable pieces that were easier to digest. Trauma occurs when we aren’t able to process our feelings and emotions. We trusted our kids to have their big feelings and they trusted us knowing that we were there to support them. My heart is so happy knowing they will always have a place to pay tribute to our sweet Bailey Boo. Grief can be a happy sad, too.
