Dog. A woman’s Best Friend.

The grief is not just about the lost companion, the loving friend.
It’s processing and transforming the pain of growing up in a family that didn’t see me.

A family that chose to demonize me because my emotions were too big.
A family that didn’t invite and welcome me in but created distance and invisibility.
A family who ignored me and stayed across state lines.

All the ones who left me,
abandoned me through death and separation.
All the ones who never cared enough to check in,
who left me wondering if I would be better off dead.

The ones I had to leave.
The years of abuse, isolation and loneliness.
The pain of being too deep,
too caring,
too emotional,
too much.

The emotionally unavailable mom, dad, grandparents, partners, lovers, friends.
The ones incapable of receiving my love.

The yearning and aching to fit in,
to have a loving family, loving friends.
The constant pain of not belonging,
always being the last plans
Feeling left out and uninvited.

The pain of watching people turn on you
and *not* *knowing* *what* *is* *wrong* *with* *me.*

The years of feeling broken and alone.
Not having a place to land for Thanksgiving, Christmas.
Wondering if anyone would remember my birthday
or if I would be left alone again.

Feeling like nobody cares.
Invisible.

Trying to numb the pain.
Drugs.
Food.
Shopping.

This grief has ripped open all the old wounds buried in layers of salves, ointments, half bandaged up but still bleeding.

The pain of not being enough.
The pain of being unlovable, unworthy.
The reject of humankind.
The throwaway.

The scarred, wounded child who watched her mother bleed to death.
The devastation of being forced to forget her and love a new mom.
A mom who beat her, starved her
and reminded her every fucking day
of how worthless she was.

Desperate to feel loved.
Discarded.

A father incapable of showing even an ounce of love or compassion.
A father who forced her to touch the dead flesh of her mother with her lips.
A father who never protected her.
Never held her.

Instead he beat her,
kicked her.
Black eyes.

A father who punched her in the stomach for daring to have a period.
A father who called her a cunt, a bitch, a whore.
Said things no good father should ever say.

They dumped their hatred on her.
They tried to extinguish her light and break her spirit.
Tried to domesticate her.

When they couldn’t, they discarded her.

She ended up in the arms of men who raped her, stole from her, took advantage of her.
She fought.
She survived.

She found true love in the form of a crazy little puppy.
He never let her down.
For the first time in her life
she felt what it meant to be LOVED.

Cherished.
Protected.

He belonged only to her
and she belonged only to him.

Her light grew.
Her love grew.

She began to love herself.
To nurture her body and mind.
She left behind the people who didn’t deserve her.

The world opened as love became possible.
It became a beautiful place full of joy and song and music.

She played the violin for him
and sang sweet lullabies.

She knew his time on earth would be short.
She knew she couldn’t hold him forever.
So she loved him
like every day could be his last.

For 15 years
they danced the dance of love
and rejoiced in each other’s presence.

She was his whole world
and he was hers.

As his body is laid to rest,
to return to the earth,
his spirit lives on in her heart
through the light of love.

Once her heart was shaped with love,
it will never shrivel to its old form.

It beats with hope and gratitude
for the next great love story
that might exist just around the bend.