Momo, Part V
The Courage of Grief
In the many films and books written about a dog’s life (Hachi, A Dog’s Purpose, The Art of Racing in the Rain), there’s a common thread: as the story progresses to its sorrowful ending, and the inevitable waterworks flow, the storyteller offers an olive branch of closure, usually in the form of a puppy. This puppy might carry her predecessor’s name, or he might be the same breed, but this conclusion is, decidedly, the story’s true ending.
Now I’m exploring the story after Momo. It’s been just over a year since the day he heard his last river. Because Momo’s gone, this story isn’t only about Momo. Or about me. It’s about you, and Boo, and eventually Yaya. It’s about the infinite echoes and waves that undulate through time and space like weather patterns when one person so much as takes a breath.
I’m lucky that Momo’s story resonated as much as it did. In this way, I can still feel his presence. I can observe how my own energy matches his. Boo’s and Yaya’s energies borrow from Momo as well.
There’s a period after loss when our spirit becomes immovable and normalcy seems completely out of reach. Naturally, as time passes and our heart begins to mend, so does our grief subside. The grief never leaves us entirely, we just learn to live with it in a new way.
I’ve spoken to friends about the guilt that comes with waning grief. Even the guilt that comes with feeling relief that our dog is no longer suffering.
But there is light after loss. Or as Cher says, life after love. Jamie Anderson tells us that “Grief is just love with no place to go.”, and he’s right. But eventually, that love finds places to go. It must. We’re made of it.
Our lives go on, despite our reluctance to move. That love that has no place to go could find a home in the many pursuits we embark on in our mourning. We might create art, write, walk, learn, talk, cry, or love again. Our love becomes the energy that allows these experiences. That energy continues in our story, in one form or another. We may have lost stamina temporarily, but we gained endurance.
There could be guilt associated with this energy, but I believe it’s important to embrace it. Grief could bring us courage, softness, wisdom, or even joy.
The Courage of Grief
If we suddenly need to avoid an obstacle while driving, we’ll tense up and swerve strategically. Our innate race car driver is summoned as we have no choice but to adapt. Grief affords us a similar courage. We’re forced to find a strength within ourselves to overcome this tremendous obstacle. We’re compelled to find the tools we need to navigate the following weeks and months and even years.
For me, I found some of this courage in returning to places Momo loved, in singing his song, and in allowing his memories to return. I learned to embrace them. There are a lot, after all.
The Softness of Grief
Often, when we lose a loved one, we miss the love they gave to us as well. As much as we need to find places to send the love we still have, we also can find ways to receive the love we no longer receive.
A hard exterior makes it difficult to receive love. But if we soften, we can accept guidance from friends, and accept new ways of living with our grief. In my own softness, I was able to receive an outpouring of love for Momo. It gave me the space to understand the impact he had.
The Wisdom of Grief
Loss teaches us one of life’s greatest lessons: the lesson of impermanence. The ability to know that what we have in the moment won’t always be. This gives us a renewed appreciation for what we do have, and an ability to remember what it means to be alive.
“Nothing in the world is permanent, we are foolish when we ask anything to last, but surely we are more foolish not to take delight when it lasts.”
– Somerset Maugham
The Joy of Grief
This is grief’s lesson that often leads to a feeling of guilt. How dare we feel joy in the absence of someone’s presence? The better question is: how dare we not?
Boo was the first one to show me this joy. Getting to know him one on one for the first time gave me an appreciation for his personality, which I was finally beginning to understand.
But the greatest gift came when I brought Yaya into the family. It was his unexpected camaraderie with Boo. Sure, I hoped they’d get along, but I was oblivious to the joy a consistent and endless brotherhood could produce. When I’m witnessing them together, I’m receiving love. It’s a new love, and a stronger love. Not stronger than Momo’s love, but stronger because of Momo. I can’t stress enough the joy I find in watching these two endlessly play.
Grief is a terrible friend but a great teacher. An inevitable one, at that. But this story here ends with a camaraderie between Momo’s not-by-choice buff brother Boo, and his springy nephew Yaya.
It’s not always a matter of life getting better or worse, but a matter of life changing. We don’t get to decide what changes, or how or when it does. But the story is ours to tell. And much like the stories told in films and books: we decide when a story ends, or how it continues.
Best,
Andrew, Yaya, and Boo
When you say, “We may have lost stamina temporarily, but we gained endurance” … so good! Beautifully written <3
Andrew your writing is so poignant. It was just hours after attending a funeral for a family member that I read it and so much of it rings true and gives hope. Thank you.