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The Difference Between My Dog And Me

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When I leave my house my dog sits outside my office door and waits for
me.  He sees me go out the front door but he goes outside in the backyard,
where my office is, and sits by my locked door.  He does that because
during the day that’s where I always am, and in his mind he can’t understand
where else I could be.  I’m always there so I must be there.

I think people do the same thing when we lose someone.  Death is such a
confusing experience.  One minute a person is part of our lives and then
in the next they are gone -- leaving a huge hole in our lives. How to make sense
of it?  Not in a religious or spiritual way but in a visceral, physical
way? Not possible. So we go to the places where the person we lost used to
exist and look for traces of them.  We sit outside their doors and hope
somehow they are inside.

All of us who have lost partners wonder how we’re going to live without our
loved ones.  How do we sit at a table to eat -- where they used to sit
across from us -- and stare at an empty chair?  How do we get pleasure out
of watching the plants grow when that had been a project we had together? No simple answer except that somehow we do or somehow we must because
just like in my dog’s case no matter how long we wait, our “person” won’t
mysteriously materialize. They now occupy a different realm in our lives and it
is a hard transition for us left behind because we know that each step we
take forward becomes one step away from our “person”.   New relationships, new jobs, new places are
things without our history with our “person”. 

But life is a gift even with all its trials; just ask anyone fighting for
theirs now.   

I know my psyche holds less despair than it did fourteen months ago.
The love and the longing have not diminished, only the desperation. And as my
life continues to exist I keep looking for ways to appreciate more each day and
not give way to things that are not that important. 

I would say that from being married to Chris, my “person”, I have learned to
love and respect myself. And from his loss I have learned to live in the moment -- to understand the real meaning of compassion. 

So there are many differences between my dog and me, but the major one is
that my dog will always be outside my door waiting for me while I instead of waiting
outside Chris’ door I’m hoping to honor him with a life well lived.

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