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The full collection of explorations.

Final Act Of Love

It started with pacing. An unusual restlessness. One that didn’t cease—which usually does cease—with more potty time.

Shortly thereafter, she started to excessively drool and dry heave.

Having zero suspicion of any health problems or complications, I figured she ate something she shouldn’t have in the backyard and needed to hurl it up to feel better.

It was already well into the night at this point so I decided to try and sleep and let her get out what she had to get out, in whatever way she had to do that, and I would deal with it—whatever “it” was—in the morning.

And eventually, after more pacing, dry heaving, and slobbery drooling… she laid down.

…It wasn’t until the next day that I found out she had GDV or bloat—a life-threatening condition that occurs when a dog’s stomach twists and fills with gas—and that she was likely in extreme discomfort and distress.

…And yet, she laid down.

I don’t think she slept that entire night. I think she laid down, not because she finally wasn’t restless or nauseous anymore—I think the level of pain/discomfort only got worse throughout the night—but because she saw I was trying to sleep.

…And she didn’t want to disrupt or inconvenience me any further.

It was a final act of love.

One I tried so f*cking hard to return when, in addition to GDV, a large tumor was found in her side, and I gave her the softest, most comfortable landing I could possibly conceive.

The Thought That Counts

My instinctual response when I’m sad/grieving is “That’s okay… I’m fine… Thank you though.”

It’s what I’ll say when people ask if there’s anything they can do… if there’s anything I need… if I want company or conversation or food or distractions or hugs…

I’m not entirely sure why, but maybe it’s because I want to feel and deal with the weight of it all on my own… maybe it’s because I’m introverted and simply don’t have it in me to expend any more energy being with others at that time… maybe it’s because I don’t want to inconvenience others and/or bring them into the wave of emotion I’m helplessly immersed in… maybe it’s all of the above mixed together… or maybe it’s none and I’m just trying to put on a facade of strength…

And while I genuinely mean it (and believe it) when I say, “It’s okay…” “I’ll be fine…” “Thank you so much for thinking of me, though…” I also must say that I’d be way more sad/broken without the offers, thoughts, and/or sentiments at all.

In this case… it really is the thought that counts.

Thank you—to all those who have been thinking of me during this tough time.

The Heaviest It’ll Be

I’m still heavy in my feels about Stella.

I don’t want to write about something else. I don’t want to move on. I don’t want to accept this new reality.

Whenever I do something distractionary, I feel fogged and heavy.

Whenever I rise from my chair or open the living room gate, I feel a nagging absence.

And whenever I think I’ve cried all I could cry—something arbitrary will make me cry some more.

This is the nature of grief.

No sense to be made. No lessons to be applied. No explanation that’ll do.

Just the weight of it all.

…And the understanding that this weight, now and in every bit of its crushing form, is the heaviest it’ll be.

RIP Stella

I could tell you about her gorgeous fur, kind eyes, and how her butt shaked when she greeted you.

I could tell you about the rituals she loved most—from morning poops, to house sprints when the mailman (finally) arrived, to evening walks… the ones we took religiously and only ever missed one handful of times.

I could tell you about how much she hated other dogs, but how much she loved other people—and how much I could relate to that, but only flipped in reverse.

I could tell you about the time she busted through the front window and aggressively chased a little dog named Rupert and in the same breath tell you about how god damn good she was—an absolute angel who spent most of her days alone, while I worked, and patiently kept herself preoccupied, radiating with love, keeping the house warm for my return.

I could tell you about how it was just her and I… how it was we who made our house into a home… and how proud I was to have her as a dog and companion… how proud I was to introduce her and show her off to everyone I knew.

…But I know that, to those of you who never met her, she’ll only ever be just another dog.

Which is okay. I wouldn’t wish grief on any of you.

…But do me a favor and remember: the difference between Stella and you, and Stella and me, is the time we spent together—something that can’t be explained or substituted—something that’ll be just as true for you and yours, and them and me.

Rent’s Due

Love; kindness; compassion; contribution; and a commitment to goodness and doing what’s right… this is the rent we pay in exchange for being able to live here on earth. It’s how we pay forward the gift we’ve been given of getting to live on a beautiful planet.

Hate; cruelty; heartlessness; greed; and a commitment to wrongdoing and evil… is to completely abuse this gift and is to trash the very house from which we were gifted to live in. It’s to shed yourself of responsibility, disregard anyone who is to come after, and to selfishly waste resources that could otherwise provide and help sustain continued life.

If there’s one thing you should aim to do throughout your life, it’s to leave this space—this beautiful planet—better than you found it. And we do this every time we pay our rent… which is done in every step we take, every decision we make, and every interaction we partake in… be it monthly, weekly, or daily… in how we chose love over hate, kindness over cruelty, compassion over heartlessness, contribution over greed, and goodness over evil.

Rent’s due.

…And for all of our sake—please don’t be late.

Inner Work Prompt: Are you leaving the world better than you found it? What’s one thing you know you need to do a better job of that you want to start improving?

Don’t Bring The Whole Bag To The Couch

The problem with Reels/Shorts/Tik-Toks is the same problem as bringing the whole bag of cookies/chips with you to the couch… one by one they feel so small… so harmless… a few mere calories in your thousands of calories budget…

…Altogether, however, it turns out to be very much the opposite of that.

The illusion of the mini dose is, “What’s one more gonna hurt?” …It’s only a few seconds / few calories out from your day/ my diet… When in reality, one more turns into another one and another one until it’s way more than just one more.

…A few hours and several hundred calories out from your day/ diet.

This is why we don’t bring the whole bag of cookies with us to the couch; we eat a deliberate and mindful portion.

It’s also why I intentionally avoid opening the “bag” of Reels/Shorts/Tik-Toks when I’m on the couch or unwinding on my phone…

And instead, will watch more medium to long-form content on YouTube… things that are portioned, deliberate, and have actual, identifiable conclusions.

It’s choosing to eat a slice of apple pie versus choosing to eat from a bottomless bag of Doritos or Oreos.

…And it is making all the difference.

Inner work prompt: How can you switch from bottomless bag to one slice in your life?

Unearth All That You Can

Resist the temptation to believe you’ll be around for a while.

For buried beneath that idea are the invaluable treasures of your life that you’ll always have thought you’d have more time to excavate.

…You’ll never have enough time to excavate them all. Better not waste any time and unearth all that you can.

…While you’re still here and know that you still can.

P.s. In case you missed it, you can read the best of what I posted to MoveMe Quotes last week, here.