The heartbreak that comes with losing your soul dog
The heartbreak that comes with losing your soul dog
Welcome to EverGrief
Written by Madeleine Alice
EverGrief is a space where I explore the many shapes of loss, especially the kinds that often go unseen or unspoken. It’s a place to gently tend to the grief that so often gets left behind. However you’ve found your way here, you’re truly welcome.
CW: Pet death & grief.
“Your death is the only thing about you that brought me pain. You were pure love.” Sara Rian
I’m sat here, seven tender days after the loss of my soul dog. I had her since she was a puppy, and as much as her death was anticipated in the way that aging warns us: greying fur, aching joints, her slowly fading eyes, it’s still been total agony.
I’m often aware, through the language and ways some people approach pet loss, that it ranks pretty low. That taking up space to talk about it can be seen as milking it, or making something bigger than it truly is. But through all the illness and death I’ve faced so far, this one has hit the hardest. I feel her pulling at my soul, a piece of me forever with her, as if I’m straddling this world and the next.
There are many ways, psychologically, I could explain this—that she was present through many important life stages, that she was my companion through a long life season filled with illness and fear. She was my home. Although many relationships fractured and bruised, with her there was a simplicity, a presence, a softness being with me no matter how trauma tore through my life. She stayed.
I could explain that I saw her entire life and we don’t get the privilege of witnessing that much of any other being. I could explain how, as someone who lived for many years without friends or close family, she was my best friend, the one who brought me smiles and laughter. The one I celebrated with, confided in, and lay with when grief had ripped through me.
She gave me a reason to keep going, to stay. And so of course her loss will be felt, every day. Of course the grief is agonising.
But it’s more than that.
She was part of my soul. As someone who loves animals and often prefers them to humans, she was different. I’ve lost pets before, and I’ve grieved them, I thought I knew what to expect.
With her, there was a lack of complexity. I let her all the way in. She is tethered to my heart in ways I’ve protected myself from with humans.
And maybe that’s why this grief feels so consuming, because there were no barriers with her. No guarded edges, no holding back. Just love in its most uncomplicated, unfiltered form.
There was no need to be anything other than what I was. She knew me in a way that felt instinctive, cellular. And I knew her the same. We met each other in that wordless place that so rarely exists elsewhere.
So when people try to measure this loss, or place it somewhere on a scale that makes it more digestible, it feels impossible to translate. Because this wasn’t “just” a pet. This was a relationship that held me together when everything else fell apart.
It’s in the quiet moments, the spaces she used to fill without trying. It’s in the instinct to reach for her, only to be met with the reality that she isn’t there. Grief like this doesn’t fit or follow a hierarchy of what should or shouldn’t hurt this much. It just exist deep and unrelenting, because love like that existed first. And maybe that’s the only way to make sense of it.
That the depth of this pain is a reflection of the depth of that bond. That something so pure was always going to leave an imprint this profound.
As I write these words, none of them seem to touch what I’m trying to express. I want her beauty woven into each line, the feral nature of grief bleeding through every letter. I want to reach anyone who has ever swallowed grief that felt like razors down their throat, and take your hand. I want us to gather in silence, knowing words will never be enough.
Our feeling, animal bodies hold a wisdom deeper than any mind could conjure. We have to give in to this, a total surrender, but we can still hold each other. As my wise friend reminded me last night (thank you), the body of the earth can hold this with me.
I wish I could sit with you, and learn from the grace that keeps us here, for now. However impossible it feels to stay when someone we love, with hands or paws wrapped around our hearts, is pulling us with them — still, our lungs keep us here. Which must mean there is more to do. More to feel. More love to give.
“I will love you for your lifetime and miss you for the rest of mine.”
Rest in peace beloved Gracie. 🌹 Thank you for all the ways you made life bearable, uncomplicated, and magnificent for Madeleine. And thank you Madeleine for voicing your grief and all the layers it strips our soul bare. I lost my heart horse 2 years ago, and I still cannot find a way to arrive to the bottom layer of what missing her feels like. Maybe because, like you so beautifully wrote, I loved all the way, without boundaries… it feels natural that my grief would reflect the endless tenderness with which we held each other in the waking world.
Sending you a warm, soothing cup of tea and the flicker of a candle to keep the flame of soul lit. Thank you for your heartfelt words. They keep my own candle lit. 🕯️♥️
I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for writing about it and sharing your heart. It’s so important because so many go through this and feel like they should move on quickly. But this is a grief that deserves to be honored. Holding you in my heart.