Everything I need to know about grief I learned from my dog

A tribute to a very special boy

On September 15, 2018, Matt and I welcomed the first new addition to our little family.

His name was Irving. He was thirteen weeks old and a dream come true.

I know the exact date of Irv’s arrival into our lives not only because I’d been waiting for him for what felt like ever, but also because it coincided with another major event in my life that threw me for a tailspin. If you’ve been following me in any capacity for a while, you already know this story so I’ll keep it brief:

Just two days after we brought Irv home to our twenty-third floor apartment in Brooklyn, I got a call that my beloved grandmother—a woman who was so much more than a grandparent to me—had taken a terrible fall down the stairs in her home. We packed up our pup and rushed home to be with my family. By the next morning (my birthday), we’d lost her, without the chance to say goodbye. It was incredibly sudden and by far the most traumatic thing that had happened to me to date.

We obviously couldn’t have predicted any of this, but Irv showed up right when I needed him the most. Since then, I’ve called him my angel, a little piece of my heart who helped me hold onto myself when everything felt devastating.

Irving was a lot of other things. He was quirky and awkward, delightfully clumsy in his big, floppy body. His long list of irrational fears included cardboard boxes, balloons, Christmas decorations, and quite literally anything (anything) that dared make a sudden move or loud noise. He was a bit of a conspiracy theorist, suspicious any time he was offered a piece of cheese or a dollop of peanut butter. He slept for hours and hours on end, usually wrapped around the legs of our coffee table in a way that absolutely could not have been comfortable. He had Grinchy paws and long whiskers that made him look a little like an angler fish. He loved any variety of bread, chasing balls, long walks, and chin scratches. He was shy but a friend to all. He had a very loud and scary bark that terrorized the neighborhood—a hilarious contrast to his soft, gentle, often scared nature. He liked to cuddle on his own terms and always greeted us with a smile. He was loved by many in life and on the internet, thanks to the many years he spent showing up as a mascot of sorts for The SSR Podcast. He was incredibly gentle and patient. He was a wonderful, magical dog.

As you’ve surely figured out by now based not only on my use of the past tense, but also the general vibe of this post, we’ve now said goodbye to Irv. It happened quite suddenly last Friday afternoon. Just the night before, he’d been chasing bunnies in the backyard. He wasn’t quite seven years old, and to say that we were unprepared for the experience of his passing would be a gross understatement.

I loved Irving so much that I often felt like I was always readying for the moment when he’d leave us. I knew I would need a lot of time to brace myself for that kind of loss. I was not braced for that impact last week. I needed a lot more time.

For a long time, I’ve resented the fact that Irv entered my life during a period of so much grief. I struggled so much with the loss of my grandmother that I truly don’t remember him as a puppy. I just know that he was always there, the way dogs are. They are the very best of us and we don’t deserve them.

Now, as I mourn the loss of the sweet little soul who really did feel like my first child (please reserve your objections to that language), I realize there’s something equal parts poetic and painful about the arc of my boy’s time here in my life. The not-quite-seven years we spent together were bookmarked by moments of traumatic, sudden, devastating loss that left me feeling completely outside of myself. Then and now, Irv taught me everything I know about grief. These are lessons I’ve hated to learn, but I’m grateful that he was my teacher—mostly because it means we got to belong to each other in such an important way.

Then, Irv taught me about the kind of grief that wraps itself in bed at your mom’s house.
Now, Irv teaches me about the kind of grief that can’t stay in bed, because you’re the mom now.

Then, Irv taught me to grieve with endless episodes of America’s Next Top Model, which he watched happily by my side.
Now, Irv teaches me that it’s okay to turn on Ms. Rachel if I just can’t do it for a little while.

Then, Irv taught me to check out of life for a while, knowing there was a faithful, furry companion waiting to be loved and cared for.
Now, Irv teaches me that you sometimes have to be present through the bad shit.

Then, Irv taught me how to laugh through the sadness, rolling his little puppy body around our apartment and staring at himself in the elevator mirror as if meeting a best friend.
Now, Irv teaches me to sit in the discomfort of not always having something to laugh at, trusting that those moments will come.

Then, Irv taught me that getting out for a walk could be healing.
Now, Irv teaches me to do the same—this time with a stroller in tow.

Then, Irv taught me the power of calm, uncomplicated love as an antidote to heartbreak.
Now, Irv teaches me that this kind of love is more expansive, maybe, than I used to give it credit for—and that it exists in all kinds of ways and places even when I feel like it’s lost.

I’ve heard all of the sayings about grief and love.

I know that grief is love with nowhere to go, that we can only feel deep grief if we’ve been blessed enough to feel deep love. In that way, I know Irv taught me even more about love than I realized throughout our years together—and just as much about love as he did about grief. Still, it’s hard when the grief is so big. The love will keep creeping in through the cracks, displacing the sad feelings. For now, I feel grateful for my buddy’s life and for the many adventures we had together. As long as I live, I’ll open cardboard boxes delicately and set things carefully down on tables so as not to make a loud noise. He showed me that the people you love are always worth that extra thought.

Please hug your fur babies extra!