I used to call them “grief contractions,” the whole-body tightening that would happen when I saw a picture of Eric, or heard a song we had loved together, or remembered a memory we had shared. At first, the pain was acute and deep. I lost my train of thought as well as my breath. It […]
The loss of a beloved pet is one of the hardest things I have ever experienced. It is the loss of one who loved unconditionally and was there when it seemed like no one else was. It is the loss of a helper, a tender teacher, a faithful listener, a friend. It’s the changing of lovely memories into sad remembrances because of obvious absence. It’s the creation of sacred moments that once seemed inconsequential. Today, I remember my grief for Teddy less frequently than I once did, and the reality of his absence affects the tone of my day much more subtly than it did when the cut was fresh. Yet, the unique type of grief I experienced when my Teddy left this world is not something I expect to ever forget.
Lately I’ve been learning that some memories and traditions, like friends, are silver and others are gold. It is important to make new ones, but to also keep the old. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been going with my family to get the Christmas tree. Last year I began a new tradition of staying home to reflect on the previous year and prepare for the next. (Part 1)
On this second Thanksgiving since the passing of my husband, I want to publicly honor his memory by publishing this letter to him. The time we had together was a treasure from God, and I’m grateful to Eric for the ways that he honored that gift, lived life to the fullest, and loved us so well.