Grief Has Teeth (And I Let It Bite Me)

I’ve been in a little grief bubble of late, not gonna lie.

My little mate passed months ago. It feels like both a lifetime and a second ago. The days blur, and there are moments where I forget when I still go looking for the fat little snoring sausage, expecting to see him sprawled out , freight train sound of his snore echoing throughout the backyard then it hits me, like a goddamn freight train to the heart. He’s not here any more- still months later it pulls at my heart.

I’ve known grief before. Deep, soul cracking grief. But this one… this one is laced with guilt. It wraps around me when I’m not paying attention, whispering lies about what I could’ve done, what I should’ve done. 

I know better my soul knows better. There’s no guilt to hold onto. It’s just my mind, my ego, the old patterns of blame doing their little dance.

Still, I let it move, through my body, through my chest, through my throat until I cry or scream or simply sit in silence with the ache.

Grief comes in waves. Some roll in like a soft tide, gentle and steady. Others come barreling in, crashing over everything.

When I walk outside and see the empty space now once where his little kennel house was, where he had the view of the whole section and me from the back.

When I lean over the fence and speak to the patch of earth under the tree the spot where he’s now buried, where he’d sit in the sun, eyes closed, soaking up the light like it belonged to him, because it did.

There’s something sacred in the love we receive from our soul animals. It’s unconditional in a way that human love rarely is not because people don’t love us deeply, but because human love often comes tangled with expectations, history, and unseen conditions, even if they’re small. It’s in our DNA. Our bones. We don’t mean to, but we do it.

But animals?

They just are.

They love without needing us to be anything other than exactly who we are in that moment.

There’s no proving. No pretending. Just presence.

That kind of love.....

That’s what wrecks you when it’s gone. That’s what tears open something primal and pure inside you. Because you weren’t just losing a pet. You were losing a lifeline to something ancient and honest.

They say grief and joy sit on opposite ends of the emotional spectrum. I get that. and I honour the joy too, the weird little quirks, the moods, the way he’d make me laugh when nothing else could.

My little buddy.

If you’ve ever looked down on someone grieving their four-legged soulmate if you’ve scoffed, rolled your eyes, said “it’s just a dog” you can fuck right off.

Seriously. I’m not here for your cold, disconnected bullshit.

That love was real. That bond was pure.

And if grief is the price we pay for love, then I’ll pay it in full  in sobs and silence and shaky breaths because he was worth every single second.

So I’ll cry. I’ll wail. I’ll laugh at the memories and fall apart at the sight of his favorite spot to sit. I added some beautiful flowers to bloom over the hotter months. I've added beautiful crystals that I have collected from the beach.   I’ll let this grief take me, strip me, soften me, and teach me.

Because that’s what love does.

Even after death.