NOTE: This blog won’t permanently cover the pain and process of losing a best bud, but I want to close the chapter and recap what I’ve learned in my first real route with grief.

It has been over a year without my pal, Hines.

A full year without his noises, without his presence filling my home with love, without his wet nose smearing art on the windows. It’s been a year of actively grieving for me, and one helluva stagnant stretch for the leash dangling from the “Love the Mutt You’re With” hanger.

About a year ago I wrote a 3-piece series about my venture of losing by best bud. I opened the story telling of a DOVE chocolate prior to a pivotal yoga class with a “transitions” theme. As we all know, these candies contain quotes inside the wrapper. These quotes resonate often, and that day was no different.

“After every storm there’s a rainbow, no matter how long it takes to show up. – Grace V., Ohio”

I recall my swelling heartache and the somber tune of my days when I peeled that wrapper open and read the quote. I recall trying to imagine this rainbow. Whether real or figurative, it wasn’t tangible. It was extremely hard to believe at the time, but I had to trust the promise that a rainbow would indeed come again someday.

As a then-38-year-old single female who had poured her heart into a living being for just over a decade, the depth of loss was an agonizing intensity unlike anything I’ve experienced. It didn’t matter how positive I tried to be: I wasn’t seeing rainbow anytime soon.

What I could see is my life coming to a bit of a halt for a bit. When I reflect on the process, I find it bizarre that the world swirls on, despite the stop our worlds come to individually. No matter what we experience, others go on as usual. And so, we each take turns in a personal dormant era from time to time. On our own – or with our circle – we deal, we reflect and eventually find the strength to join back up with the world and move forward.

And then back.

And then forward again.

It’s a thought like a passage a friend sent this fall on how Grief Comes in Waves. First, the author explains, waves come often. They are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. Then the waves are 80 feet tall, and eventually 50. The space between grows longer, and eventually you can anticipate them.

“You can see it coming,” the passage says. “And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.”

He continues:

“The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to… Other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”

It’s a beautiful way to describe grief, now that I’m scarred and have come to appreciate the beauty and the sparser waves.

And, while I still have sad moments, that rainbow has definitely appeared and is gaining vibrance. And the sadness – like all dog owners have promised – has morphed into sweet, sweet memories, usually paired with tears. Tears are usual, but it somehow doesn’t feel as sad. More bittersweet.

September 26, for example, stirred up all kinds of emotions. The anniversary of Hines passing felt awfully similar to reliving it, which I did not expect. That one was a big wave.

Then there are other scenarios: Like the day I stood in the aisles of Menards observing a woman of similar age picking out dog treats. Unfortunately, this was the day I was selecting perennials and bird seed for the feeders at Hines’ burial site. There I stood, like a forlorn mannequin next to the J.R. Watkins display wondering whether she had any idea how lucky she was. Wanting to warn her that she was going to be in my shoes someday, to make sure she appreciated what she had before her best boy or best girl was gone – all the more reason to not skimp on treats! While I had a trace of happiness for her, I mostly coveted what she had, and missed it so, so much.

I missed it, yes. Yet I couldn’t seem to “move on” to my next, despite everyone’s advice that “the best way” to move on is to get another. I thought about several dogs, even fostering a Saint Bernard for about a month, but was very resistant to fully stepping into it.

At first this is because I needed time to grieve and heal. Then it became a sad, sad realization that no matter what I did, I’d never have another Hines – and truthfully, that is all I wanted. Through this time, I had gone through all the lonely, daunting work to learn how to be without him. Every routine was broken and how I lived changed. So, naturally, the next challenge was obvious: How would I navigate adding a dog back in? Just like how I asked “how will I live without this” starting September 27, 2023, I began asking “how will I live with this?”

There is a lot of pressure in selecting a dog to follow in Hines’ footsteps. But reminders to listen to my heart, be patient and wait for one that pulls on the heartstrings, and, in many ways, wait for the dog that chooses me are all sound tidbits of advice that pair well with the realization that we only get a few dogs per lifetime, so waiting forever might not be the best choice.

Despite all this time passing, I still think of Hines often – usually at the strangest times like hearing the crinkling of a plastic bag – a sound that used to directly correlate with going on walks. I still find bags in coat pockets and just hold them in my hand with a teary smile.

Certain leaves make me think of him, or the expression in the eyes of some dogs I meet on walks. Spotting cardinals in the back yard always makes me think of Hines, but the best might be hearing that magic sound on occasion. The ring that sounds *just* like his collar jingle – a noise I have chosen to believe it is just him saying “hey.”

This deeply emotional experience has been such a journey. Thankfully pain alleviates and joy resurfaces, and the heart heals. Then, before you know it, you somehow find the strength, courage and desire to do it all again.

Shootin’ the Wit is a sporadic blog about everyday life that should never, ever be taken too seriously.