Growth through Grief and Gratitude.

One year ago today, facing a dark stormy evening I prepare to take out the trash.

Gearing up for the storm, I begin the trek down my lengthy driveway in the country. My ginormous waste and recycle receptacles in tow - one in each hand. My 16 year old senior field spaniel dutifully accompanies me. But only to the front of the yard where she stops to sit. Her nose faces up toward the sky, sniffing all that the inclement weather has to offer - a welcome invitation to her senses.

When I return from the street, she is gone. Her vision, hearing and mobility have noticeably declined over the past several months. I call her name. Maggie. I whistle. Each time, my calls become increasingly strained and frenetic.

The storm clouds and darkness envelop my property. My heart sinks into a deep pit of dread. My girl has wandered away. Possibly beyond my 2 acre property line and the tempest that brews mirrors the turmoil within me.

Maggie is not merely a pet; she is my beloved truest companion. She has shared my life for over a decade and a half - connecting my past with my present. Her gentle spirit and unwavering loyalty has brought joy to my days, and the thought of her lost and alone in the storm is unbearable. Waves of panic course through my veins.

The first few hours are filled with frantic searching—calling her name into the howling wind, scouring the yard, and reaching out to neighbors in desperation. Each passing moment feels like cruel punishment, as I brace myself against the elements, hoping against hope to see her familiar outline emerge from the shadows.

The wind howls like a wild animal, whipping through the trees and sending branches crashing to the ground. Rain pours from the heavens, creating a strident noise that drowns out all other sounds. Including my cries and sobs of desperation for my girl. Each drop feels like a warning. A reminder of the urgency of the situation.

My voice strains and shakes, as I continue to call out for Maggie. My voice swallowed by the storm's fury. The once-familiar peaceful country sounds are replaced by the unsettling roar of the storm amplifying my anxiety. Running around my property, my heart races as I battle against the wind, desperately shouting her name. I envision Maggie, with her greying muzzle and weary eyes, wandering in confusion, perhaps seeking shelter from the relentless downpour. The thought of her shivering and scared pierces my heart like a dagger. Each second feels like an eternity; the minutes stretch into hours as I scour the yard and surrounding properties peering into the shadows cast by the flickering streetlights.

The storm intensifies, transforming the night into a cacophony of chaos. Rain lashes against my skin, and the wind howls like a mournful creature, drowning out the faint echo of my calls. With every flash of lightning, I imagine catching a glimpse of her drenched coat, but the flashes only illuminate the emptiness and cold around me. The panic escalates as I run down the street, calling for her, my voice a mix of desperation and hope.

Neighbors may or may not be peering out from their windows at this point. I don’t know. But I am making as much noise as I am able. With every whistle, I’m calling for her at the top of my lungs, pouring all of my hope into those desperate pleas.

Driving the country roads with the windows down amidst the tumultuous wind and rain. My high beams fully engaged cutting through the darkness as I navigate the winding paths.

I pull over to get out of the car, searching the perimeter, scanning the shadows for any sign of Maggie. Fueled by a mix of fear and determination.

I feel utterly alone in my quest. Each corner I turn brings only deafening silence accompanied by raging winds and rains, intensifying the agonizing fear that I might never see her again.

As I push through the weather, my mind races with thoughts of how she might be coping with the violent commotion of the storm. Maggie has always been sensitive to weather changes, often seeking refuge with me during thunderstorms. The realization that she might be hiding, trembling in a corner somewhere, hurts my heart. I can almost feel her soft fur against my hand, the warmth of her presence that has always been a source of deep comfort.

I call upon my dearest partner to aide me in my search. When he arrives we search relentlessly into the early morning hours the following day. As dawn breaks, the storm begins to subside, leaving behind a battered landscape. The air is thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth, a bittersweet reminder of the night’s turmoil. I step outside, the stillness wraps around me like a shroud.

We enlist my neighbors and organize a grid search for the next 48 - 72 hours. As the days pass, my heart begins to surrender to despair.

The search transforms from frantic calls to a haunting silence, each unanswered plea is a reminder of the growing void in my life. I imagine her huddled somewhere, scared and alone, longing for the warmth of my embrace. The image clings to my mind like a ghost, paralyzing me with guilt and helplessness. Have I done enough? What if I had been more vigilant, more protective?

Weeks follow working with animal psychics, pet and rescue groups, cooking outdoor BBQ meats nonstop, placing heavily scented clothing items around my property to aide in Maggie’s return home, and canvasing the neighborhoods with hundreds of weatherproof signage over a 10 mile radius to inform everyone to keep a look out for my girl.

I am comforted by a soon to be life long friend and professional colleague who recently lost his beloved feline, Cheddar. “Billie,” he begins, “I will tell you that the only thing that provided me any comfort during my grief of Cheddar was gratitude. The gratitude for having shared a life with such an amazing soul.”

In that moment, I decided to change my perspective and try to solely focus on the life I had shared with my sweetest most precious soulmate. To truly sit with the agony of her loss knowing that the pain stemmed from the deep love we shared. And it worked.

In the continued aftermath of my search, I realized that the true agony wasn't just the fear of losing my senior pup; it was the panic of uncertainty and the bond we shared. Maggie may have faced the storm alone, but our connection transcended even the darkest moments. And always will.

No matter the weather, the bond between us is eternal, remains unbreakable and is indomitable. Just like Maggie’s spirit.

***

Conclusion:

The agony of Maggie’s absence will linger, but I know that she will always be a part of me. I vow to cherish the memories we have created together, allowing them to light the way through the darkness of grief.

In the months that followed Maggie’s departure, I learned to navigate the waves of sorrow, finding comfort in the small things—a wagging tail, a joyful bark, the unconditional love that only a dog can offer. Maggie may have been lost to the storm, but her spirit will forever remain etched in my heart, a reminder that love transcends even the greatest of losses. And in that acceptance, I have found a bittersweet peace, knowing that she will always be with me, watching over me from beyond.

The intense pain of loss often evolves into a celebration of one’s life and the joy they brought. This transformation can lead to profound personal growth. People might become more empathetic, learning to appreciate the fleeting moments of happiness and the importance of loving authentic relationships.

Some individuals may also find a renewed sense of purpose. The love they had for their beloved may inspire them to create a sense of connection and fulfillment elsewhere, helping to channel grief into something positive. Some individuals, unfortunately, may drown in their sorrow. Not able to recalibrate their own compass. Overwhelmed with the agony and pain and sorrow. Like my dearest partner, close friends and family, we need to identify these people and be there for them.

Because loss, as we grow older and wiser, we learn, is an inevitable part of life. And frankly, we need each other.

The journey of loss, healing, and growth after the death of a loved one is deeply personal and often transformative.

It reminds us of the profound impact loving souls have on our lives and the essential lessons they teach us about love, loss, and resilience. By honoring their memory and allowing ourselves to grieve, we can ultimately find healing and embrace the possibility of new beginnings, carrying forward the love once shared with our beloved ones forever imprinted in our hearts.

One year later, today, I realize that acceptance is not about forgetting; it is about honoring the memories and the love shared.

For my beloved, Maggie, I’ve dedicated this tune to US: Never Let Me Go (from Todd Strait’s Fun House Project with Bill Mays.