I can’t even believe I’m writing this post just over two months after losing Randy. Trevor is gone now too, and I am beyond devastated. I don’t even know what to do with myself. I don’t know what to do with all this grief.
Just six days earlier, on my birthday, I remember looking at him, noticing how his breathing had changed slightly and jokingly said after kissing him on the head, “Don’t you die on my birthday, Bobe!” It sounds awful now, but I’d already lost a dog on my birthday once before, and the thought of going through that again felt unbearable. Trevor spared me of that misery, and also seemed so lively on that day. He even had his first pup cup from Starbucks. . . he seemed fine.
We were still slowly getting used to life with just the two of us. We were finding our new routine, settling into our new normal. I thought we had so much more time together. But I was wrong.
Seemingly out of nowhere, the mild change in his breathing worsened on the days that followed my birthday and then late Wednesday evening, he started drinking A LOT of water. On Friday, I brought him in to see his vet. . . who called me hours later, explaining that he had cancer.
Twenty-four hours later, he was gone ðŸ˜
It happened on June 7th at 3:33am.
On Friday afternoon we were at the vet. By Saturday night, I was trying to revive him after he lost consciousness and then rushing him to the emergency room. I wrote about everything that happened on my Substack, so I won’t go into all of the details here (but I truly thank you for your support during this time, and always). Truthfully, it took me a week just to find the courage to write about any of it. Every time I sat down to try, I fell apart. Sharing the news felt impossible. It meant I had to accept it, and it was so tragic, I couldn’t.
I am heartbroken. 💔
One of the things that makes this loss so different from losing Randy is that Randy gave me time. He’d been struggling with health issues for nearly a year, and while I desperately wanted to save him, I also had time to process what was happening. There was time to prepare myself for the inevitable, even if I never truly accepted it. And when Randy passed, I still had Trevor, and Trevor softened the grief.
We mourned Randy together. We adjusted to life without him together. We started creating a new routine together, just the two of us. Every day it felt like we were figuring it out side by side, and with the same schedule, my days didn’t change much.
Aside from an ongoing ear infection, I thought Trevor was healthy. I thought we’d have years ahead of us. I thought we had time.
I was wrong 😔
Now I’m grieving Trevor while still grieving Randy, and for the first time in more than twelve years, I don’t have a dog by my side. I don’t think I fully understood how much of my identity and daily life revolved around caring for them until suddenly there was no one left to care for. . . no-one but me, and now I have no real reason to get up in the morning.
I’m home all day. My schedule revolved around their needs. I used to joke that they were a full-time job, but they really were. My mornings started with feeding them. My days revolved around medications, ear cleanings, eye drops, face-and-fold cleaninging, potty breaks, carrying them up and down everything, checking on them, making sure they were comfortable, making sure they were okay. Every decision I made considered them first.
Now there are no bowls to fill.
No little bodies waiting for breakfast, lunch, dinner.
No paws following me from room to room.
No one barking at the door to go for a walk.
No little face staring at me while I do anything, all day long.
No snoring beside me while I work… sleep, do anything.
No smashed faces making me smile.
No life aside from me. . . and the silence is deafening.
Some moments are easier than others. Today felt slightly easier than yesterday, in the sense that I only cried instead of crying while also battling a completely dysregulated nervous system filled with panic, fear, and uncertainty. But grief doesn’t move in a straight line. As soon as I think I’ve made a little progress, something reminds me of them and I’m right back where I started.
Recently I read that grief is like glitter. In the beginning, it’s everywhere. It’s on your hands, in your hair, scattered across every corner of your life. You try to clean it up and restore some sense of order. For a while, it seems like you’ve succeeded. Then one day you move a piece of furniture or open a forgotten drawer and there it is again, catching the light and reminding you of what you’ve lost. It never really goes away. It just settles. Over time it becomes less overwhelming, and eventually you learn how to carry it with you.
This feels like glitter. The loss of them reminds me of all my other losses. Billy, then LeRoy, then Bebop and now, my Sweet Bobes. It’s too much to bear 😔
I’ve been thinking about getting a puppy because everyone says the best way to deal with overwhelming grief is to turn it back into love. Looking back, that’s what happened every other time. Trevor and Randy came into my life after I lost LeRoy. LeRoy came into my life shortly after I lost Billy. Somehow each dog helped carry me through the loss of the one before.
But I’m not sure I’m ready yet.
Right now, I’m still trying to figure out who I am without them. I’m trying to figure out what to do with my mornings, my evenings, my routines, my energy, and all of the love that has nowhere to go. Maybe with each passing day it gets 0.01% easier. Maybe that’s all I can ask for.
For now, I’m just taking it one day at a time and missing my boys like there’s no tomorrow. . . because there isn’t 😔 😠💔
