Mourning loss.

So, we had to euthanize our elderly lab mix doggie, Dana, last week. Jacob was there and witnessed it, although from a distance - he was on the couch while Matt, Katie and I held Dana and the vet gave her the injection. (We were lucky enough to have her put down at home.) He didn't show any interest in saying goodbye to her body or anything, although in hindsight I wonder if I should have asked him if he wanted to. But I think he needed to process it in his own way.

This week at school he's burst into tears several times, and just cried brokenheartedly and even sad, "I'm sad." The crying lasted ten minutes for the first time, less than that the other two times. Then last night at home he started crying in this horribly sad, mournful way. I asked, holding up one hand for each answer, "Is this about Dana? Or something else?" He hit the hand that was for Dana.

Poor sweet boy. I held him and rocked him and told him how wonderful Dana was, how connected they were and how he always knew when she had to come in or go out and opened the door for her, and what a special job that was. I said she was at peace now, and (here is where it is difficult not to have a well-defined faith about the afterlife!) maybe she would come back as a dog again, or a beautiful, wise human being, or a cat - Katie was there and agreed that Dana was so catlike, she might very well enjoy a lifetime as one. Or that maybe she was taking a break from incarnating and romping around somewhere eating tons of raw chicken and loping down a trail in the woods.

I said if you got very quiet and still and listened, you could still feel Dana's spirit very nearby. He got very still and quiet, and seemed to calm a bit. I told him it was okay to cry and feel sad, and that it was good to feel the feelings. That we were all sad and brokenhearted over losing Dana. She was a very, very special dog in our lives.

I'm just so glad that emotionally he is so healthy and connected. It's a gift. There is so much that can transcend language.