Grief and Gratitude

Two weeks ago, I was about to get to writing a little something about gratitude for this newsletter when the unexpected randomness of Life happened. My companion, Baci (whom you may recall from his recent celebrity appearance in this column) had a disc rupture, leaving his back legs paralyzed.

I spent two, stress-filled days and $5,000 that I don’t have to give him the surgery he required to relieve his pain and give him a fighting chance to walk again. He’s been home a couple of weeks now, staples down his shaved spine, incontinent, legs dragging behind him as he attempts to be the dog he feels he still is inside. It’s alternately pitiful and, frankly, sort of amusing. I have to carry him from room to room. He howls if I am out of sight. It’s like having a newborn baby again, without the cute outfits.

I think I took this a whole ordeal a lot harder than Baci. He has the blissful blessing of being a dog, which means he lives entirely in the moment. I, on the other hand, am stuck with my humanness, which worries about whether he’ll walk again or go to the bathroom normally, or if I’m doomed to a life of tiny wheelchairs, doggy diapers and a house that smells like a nursing home.

The whole thing makes me pretty sad. But Baci’s not sad. I don’t think so, anyway. And for that, I am grateful. I’m also grateful that he made it through the surgery. I’m grateful I could charge the whole thing and worry about paying it later. (If anyone’s looking for an awesome part-time employee, give me a holler.) I’m grateful for pain medication. And wine. I’m grateful for the friends who called and asked about us, because as all dog owners know, these guys are like our children. They’re not “just dogs.”

I have no idea how this will turn out, but isn’t that always the truth, about everything, always? We never know when random bolts from the blue will strike, and we never really know why they do and we certainly never know if or how it will come out in the wash. Maybe that’s the lesson. Maybe that’s part of the gratitude: to be compelled to take it moment by moment, day by day, diaper by diaper.

Grief and gratitude go hand in hand. Knowing sorrow aligns your heart with gratitude. Being creatures of relativity and contrast is only through love that we know grief, and it is only through grief that we really understand gratitude and joy. Grief takes us down to the bone, down to what really matters: kindness and love. I think about this as I carry my friend from room to room, give him his meds, stroke his stapled back. This is my job. To be kind. To love. That’s really it.

You never know what a day will bring. We all know this, yet we forget it until something happens that reminds us that’s all a great unknown, meant to be lived and appreciated moment to precious moment. This is the great gift of loss; it invites us into a deeper appreciation for all the fleeting beauty, love, and blessings we are given each day. Baci’s ordeal has reminded me of this once again, and for that, I am grateful.