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Tag: Stella

Away From Obligation

One thing I’m quickly noticing in myself as I continue doing my nightly walks without Stella is an increased pace.

I’m walking much faster by myself than I did when she was with me.

I don’t know if it’s a subconscious attempt to complete the task—as though it’s obligatory—but I have to consciously remind myself to slow down… as she would do for me when she would stop to pee or smell pee or stalk a bunny or whatever.

I don’t want these walks to feel obligatory.

I don’t want anything I do to feel obligatory.

And the best antidote I’m finding to that obligatory instinct, counterintuitively, is to slow down the very thing I’m trying to expedite.

Not being in a rush to finish is an excellent sign that you’re enjoying the process—the moment (life)—for what it is.

One Week Later

Welp, at the one week mark, I’m slowly starting to adjust to and accept my new normal.

I’m slowly starting to expect her less when I open the door. I’m slowly starting to leave gates open and no longer blocking rooms off that I want to keep her out of. I’m slowly remembering I don’t need to open the back door when I get out of the shower each morning and that I don’t need to stop by the cupboard before I leave to work and that I don’t need to rush home after work to let her out.

Sometimes it happens automatically—as a programmed response from years of repetition.

And I know that before long, new programmed responses will take their place and these old habits will fade alongside her memory. And I’m learning to be okay with that.

What I’m choosing to deliberately keep, however, are the evening walks. This is the one habit that she helped me adopt that I feel would properly honor her memory if I kept. And each night, after I get home from work, I follow the same route we used to follow and try to carry her legacy with me. One that doesn’t rush. One that stops and smells the roses (or the pee in her case). One that is always grateful to be out… walking… experiencing… being.

P.s. I tagged all of the 1-minute pieces I’ve written that were inspired by Stella over the years. You can read the collection here.

Heaviness Serves A Purpose

With heaviness comes slowness, naturally.

And one lesson I’m trying to absorb is that of acceptance—the one that doesn’t fight reality or curse the resistance, but relaxes into the moment for what it is and tries to instead move forward with whatever it presents.

And if heaviness is what I’ve been given, then maybe slowness is how I’m supposed to respond… so that I might stop fighting and cursing and rushing around from place to place and can start intentionally noticing, settling, and feeling instead.

How To Honor Lost Loved Ones

One of the best things I think we can do to honor the ones we have lost is create a space where we can regularly bring them to mind and then carry with us the best of their life’s legacy—acting as a vehicle of sorts—so as to continue their and elevate our influence in the world.

It’s almost as though we’re opening the doors to our car each morning and letting them in… the best versions of all of our lost loved ones… so that we can carry them with us throughout our day(s)—rather than rushing from our homes late, flustered, and absent-minded.

…From some we might carry with us their legacy of patience, from others we might bring their legacy of love and kindness, and from others maybe we bring their legacy of strength or humor or resilience—but from each… we bring something.

…Leaving us filled with their memory rather than void from their absence and allowing them (and us) to continue interacting positively and constructively with the world.

Inner work prompt: Bring to mind a lost loved one. Meditate on their life and condense their legacy into a word or lesson you can carry with you today… and maybe every day after as well.

Where Inconvenience and Love Cross

This quote has been running through my mind over the past few days—especially as I reflected on that last night with Stella:

“…I talked about how love was an action, an instinct, a response roused by unplanned moments and small gestures, an inconvenience in someone else’s favor.”

Michelle Zauner, Crying in H Mart (Page 143)

I’ve thought about love a lot and have tried to define it before.

But, when it comes to love that is pointed towards another or love that is shared… I think those six words sum it up beautifully: “…An inconvenience in someone else’s favor.”

Remember this the next time your loved ones ask you for a favor that’s inconvenient with your schedule… or when you’re feeling “too busy” to plan your next outing or date… or when they’re going through a hard time and you’re traveling or away…

…It’s precisely the inconvenience that makes a task or act special.

…An action, instinctual response, or small gesture that would’ve been easier for you not to do because of the other things you’ve gotta do (for you), but did anyway because of what it meant to the other person (which shows what the other person means to you).

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

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.