under the mess

Yesterday I woke up at 3:45 in the morning and waited to feel tired enough to go back to sleep. My friend in New York messaged me before sunrise. Her 2 year old dog had died. She aspirated on her own vomit on the way to the vet. There was nothing that anyone could have done.

My friend has had a tough year for few years. An ailing parent, the end of an important relationship, COVID anxiety. She has been resilient, stronger than she thought she could be, and now she is being asked to be strong again. Even from the sidelines, it is too much too soon.

What can we do in the face of life happening? Especially the hard parts, the cruel bits. What can you say in the moments after someone you loved is being called to bear the unbearable?

Of course you are sad.

Of course it’s hard.

Anyone would feel this way.

I wish I could say something to ease the pain.

I’m right here with you.

You can let go for a moment now because I’ll hold strong for you.

These are the conversations where logic reaches its limits and we must enter the realm of the ineffable. I have navigated in grief. I know the greatest hits, the ideas that gave me comfort. Another friend told me of my grandmother “she’s closer to you than ever. You can talk to her anytime now” when I was so sad still so many years after her death, missing and missing her. Ram Dass says that we don’t know. We don’t know why some live and some die or when. We don’t know what the plan is. He says we can give a shpiel about karma, but this is the place where we have to step beyond our mind, to go into the mystery instead of bracing against it.

Ram Dass talks about letting his human heart break. Traveling and operating charities in India and around the world he would hear hundreds of people’s stories of illness and loss, starvation and torture. He said he used to brace against these moments because it was too painful to listen openheartedly, to open to someone’s pain, that his heart would break. He learned that the heart can break and repair infinitely. We can allow it to break over and over, to stop guarding it from breaking. We can live from the faith that if breaking is inevitable, healing is inevitable, too.

My friend couldn’t stop crying. She couldn’t stop asking why her, why her dog, why now, why this way. This loss wasn’t real yet. The gap between her expectations and reality was a casym she couldn’t imagine leaping. Words can’t help in this place, they fall so far short of what is needed. When trying to offer comfort, words are just a way to fill the space while you are feeling with someone.

"Don’t stop crying,” I told her. Cry. Let it all out. Keep breathing. Stay in your body. All feelings are okay. Try not to block them with your mind. Try not to numb out with distractions or substances. Try not to exacerbate them by letting your mind weave the emotions into a story that amplifies and extends them, a story as hurtful as the hurt that we feel.

What’s the antidote to thinking things worse? To feel your feelings in your body. When they arise, whenever they arise, excuse yourself to a safe place to feel. Focus on your breath. Let your attention move to the part of your body where you feel the most sensation. If your mind needs a job, try to describe it. Watch where and how it moves. Wrap your arms around your torso or lay your hands on your heart as you keep breathing. Imagine yourself surrounded in love. It’s okay that it’s unbearable. It’s okay your heart breaks. The world can be merciless, ferocious. We can’t deny that.

I have been there. I have touched grief so recently. I had just reread my essays I felt grounded in my faith. I knew what was happening. My beliefs support me like a scaffold through times unpredictable and hard. What I was telling my friend to do wasn’t easy, but those were the most direct paths I found through that darkness.
It wasn’t long before I had the chance to put my money where my mouth was. My calm certainty was a test to the universe. Not thirty minutes later my favorite happy, sweet, white beach dog was attacked by four dogs. I screamed and ran towards them. The men who ran up and I could just stand there yelling and throwing sand. With no shoes, no sticks there was nothing else we could do. I watched as the dog holding my sweet friend’s throat shook his head. The kill move. I was totally helpless.

I couldn’t do anything to help my mourning friend so I searched and searched for the injured white dog. When I couldn’t find the dog I cried because that was the only thing that was mine to cry about.

I sat on the beach and just cried it out. I don’t care anymore. I’ll cry wherever I am. It’s all just too much. It honestly is. We try to pretend it isn’t, but that’s a silly lie. It’s absolutely too much, yet somehow we are still all doing it. We can pretend it’s not and hide our tears or be the one to admit that it’s unbearable.

Another paradox, the way to bear it is to admit it’s unbearable. The way to be happy is to let yourself be sad. The way to love is to lose - it’s what gives love it’s value, reminds us it is precious and the moments we have together are fleeting. And as sweet as love is, loss can feel as bitter.
My mother’s birthday. My friend’s loss. My dog friend’s injuries. Then the anniversary of my grandmother’s death. I lit a memorial candle for her and cried again. What I wouldn’t give to touch her hand one more time. Anything, anything. She was my doorway into love, the physical form it took in my childhood.

I walked to the cafe down the street and said good morning to a man working on the property across the street who I had never seen before. He replied “que triste?” I was shocked. “Why am I sad?” He could see through sunglasses what some boyfriends I’ve cohabitated with couldn’t in one glance. I told him about the anniversary. He said he was sorry. I said it was okay to be sad. He understood.

Unfortunately we need both. Without loss there could be no love. Without evil, no good. I thought to myself for two weeks what a special dog this was and I didn’t want to be bothered to look into it, my hands full with Harley and my projects. It took this attack for me to step in, to motivate me to do what my intuition was whispering sweetly and I easily ignored. This was the worst day of this little dog’s life that has turned into the worst two weeks of being locked up after being so free. It was the worst, and yet it was his ticket to a sweet, sweet, safe life. Don’t you find that? That the blessings are hidden deep in the shit life hands you. That if you are willing to get not just your hands dirty, but to go elbow deep, under the mess are the gems.