Acute*
Last week I said goodbye to my companion of five years, Phillip. A goldfish that started his life in the Sequim Walmart before becoming a classroom pet, then my roommate and comrade.
Phillip after surviving days without power during Snowpocalypse 2019
He was my first pet as an adult and he was a partner during important chapters in my life. I was concerned when he got sick several weeks ago but he had recovered from illness in the past. I cleaned and treated his tank in an effort to help him get well only to watch as his mobility and health continued to deteriorate, I felt dread. I had to face the reality that our time together was ending.
I was gutted.
I said my goodbye amongst heavy tears, fractured breaths and a constricted heart. I grieved and am still grieving. Amid the grief of losing someone I loved, I recognized how much grief I hadn’t been allowing myself to feel.
I’m able to give myself permissions to grieve the loss of a friend but haven’t given myself permission to grieve the slow loss of my life before COVID-19. I didn’t know how, I still don’t know how. I have narratives, examples and experience with the acute grief. That grief that is tied to a specific experience, like the loss of life. I don’t have any playbook for how to grieve the slow loss of normalcy. I don’t have an examples of how to process the tiny losses that have piled up or the abrupt changes to the way I think, feel and function in this world.
I find myself drawn to grief, a deep desire for understanding. I want to spend more time with my grief. I want to build myself the tools and understanding to allow for grief, catharsis and release. I want to embrace grief.
Grief beyond the lighting strike that starts the fire but the grief that slowly rises like a river spilling over its banks changing your surroundings into an unfamiliar landscape.
I’m not saying I want to be sad all the time. I know grief is about more then just sadness. I’m also aware I have been socially conditioned to think of sadness and grief as an unwanted and unattractive quality. I’ve been taught grief and sadness are valid human emotions but they are allowed only within specific guidelines. I choose to venture into this culturally taboo aspect of emotion because I need to, because I want to.
As I do I will share what resonates, because we are all struggling with the incalculable death toll around the world that to some feels so far away and to others is far too close. The fear, outrage and grief of how marginalized populations are treated in this county. Along side the small struggles caused by the sudden changes to our lives, and the fact that our lives will never be the same again. There is grief present everyday, and I don’t think I’m alone in lacking the skills, knowledge and experience needed to use this grief in a way that is healthful.
Feelings are information. I want to read the emails my feelings are sending instead of putting them in junk mailbox.
I want to share one more thing with you in an effort to be vulnerable, not put the sadness in the shadows and honor my beloved friend. Below is the letter I wrote to Phillip. I read this too him before I took him to the pond in my back yard.
Phillip,
We’ve been together for five years. You helped me through my final year of grad school, my decision to leave Sequim and the discovery of myself as a grown ass woman. We’ve moved 3 times together and you even spent a short time with my father while I traveled without you.
I am truly heartbroken that our time together has ended. Sharing a life for five years isn’t something to laugh about even if glass has physically separated us the whole time.
I’m so sorry you got sick, I feel responsible. I keep playing that “if only “game but that doesn’t do either of us any good. I didn’t realize how much I appreciated having you in my life until I faced losing you. You have been a constant in a period of dramatic change, heartbreak, fear, love, expansion and growth. Others may find comedy in the mourning of a goldfish but I know our souls shared a life time together.
Who will I say hello to each morning as I make my coffee? Who will greet me every time I enter the kitchen? I know your organs are failing and I can’t do anything to help you but I’m still having a hard time letting go.
So much of the change has been mine but this last adventure is yours. Maybe the pond will be miraculous place of healing and you will live your next chapter there or maybe you will get to experience a new world before your soul journeys to a new place. Either way I send you with my love and gratitude. Thank you for sharing your life with me.
Love
Erin
*Original Post Date May 28th, 2020
Phillip’s Pond
