How do Grown-ups Grieve?

I've been thinking a lot about grief this week. On Sunday, we lost our family pet MuShu to the kind of death no pet owner wants for their dog. She was hit by one of the many cars that speed down 30th St. just north of our house after escaping through the back gate. The "if-only's" have raced through my mind as quickly as she disappeared into her new found freedom...only to have her 6-year-old life taken too soon.

When my cell phone rang and I saw an unfamiliar area code, I almost didn't answer; but my curiosity led me to say "hello." It was a woman asking me in a very calm voice (with what I now recognize as solemnity looking back) if I had a little white dog named MuShu. "Yes....did she get out again? She always does that," I replied. The next few words are what triggered the beginning of my worry that later turned into gut-wrenching grief. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but she's been hit." My heart sunk. "Where is she?" I stammered. I shouted out the intersection to Ryan and paced as he grabbed the car keys and ran out the door.

Simeon was safe in his high chair, confused by the flurry of activity, as I acted on my first reaction in most emergencies like this...to call my Mom. I told her the news and we processed what to do next. I quickly got online and Googled "emergency vet, Indianapolis." Ryan's call that came in on the other line immediately stopped the search. "Sarah, I'm sorry, but she's gone." And so my grieving began. My knees, along with the phone, fell to the ground. I covered my head with my hands and began to wail. Everyone experiences grief differently, but when I'm faced with devastation such as this, I've always felt as though loud crying and fist pounding will somehow bring a loved one back or heal a broken heart.I immediately realized the severity of my mourning when Simeon began to scream from his high chair across the house in the kitchen. I was able to pull myself together long enough to comfort him before I heard the Hyundai pull into the back and saw Ryan carrying MuShu's limp body through the gate. I lost my composure again, as did Simeon, and we cried together.

After Ryan laid MuShu near an evergreen bush in the back, he came inside and took Simeon from my arms. He reminded me that I was scaring Simeon, so I decided to take my grieving outside. I kneeled beside MuShu to stroke her still warm body and weep. After I had said good-bye, I walked back into the house with my head down and looked at Simeon. It was then that I realized I wasn't just grieving for myself. I was also grieving for my son. Simeon, not being old enough to understand death and the emotions it evokes, didn't know why I was crying and couldn't feel the sadness that would linger in our house for months to come. He didn't have the foresight to know that MuShu wouldn't play tug of war with him after dinner that evening, or make him laugh when she wagged her tail in his face, tickling his neck; but I did, which is what made MuShu's death even harder than it would have already been. I wouldn't see Simeon's face light up when we got home from running errands and MuShu ran to greet us. MuShu wouldn't play fetch with Simeon anymore and humor him by retrieving a toy he threw only a few inches from his feet. Simeon had lost his first true best friend, and would never remember all of their special moments together.

This is why I feel like I've grieved as a grown-up for the first time in my life. Not because of my mature composure or how I handled myself (I'll be the first to admit it wasn't well). I grieved as an adult because I was also experiencing grief as a parent. Unfortunately, this won't be the last tragedy in the Noel family. Losing my parents will mean the loss of Simeon's grandparents. There will be family friends who will pass away, and other pets we won't be able to save; and while I will never be able to lessen my or Simeon's pain through cries or wails, I will be able to explain to him that death is a natural part of God's plan for us (even dogs like MuShu) and that it will one day lead to the joyous reunion with Him in Heaven.