I recently had to experience one of the hardest losses I’ve gone through in my life, the loss of a friend who had been there for a decade. This dumb son of a bitch decided to up and leave while we were driving home one day. It happens, life sucks, and death is our birthright. But the death of a pet, a dog, seems to hit harder than any one death of a human.
This might be because humans are, in general (and painting with a very broad brush), total pieces of shit. And the fact that animals never see it coming. They are blissfully unaware of their impending death, or so I believe. I’m not a dog, so I can’t exactly tell you what was going on in his pea-sized brain the few moments before it happened. But I like to think he was confused and possibly wondering what treats and how many mom was going to give him when he got back.
So, it happened, and I then had to drive him to the vet...to take care of the necessary accommodations for cremation. For the entirety of the drive to the vet, I was yelling and screaming at this guy, George, to wake up and stop being lazy. Yelling and screaming. But I knew what had happened. No amount of yelling, pets, or gentle shoves would alter this event or revert it back to what it had been three minutes earlier.
Details don’t need to be gone into with the vet situation. They were as kind as any vet can be, and extremely tolerant of my irrational thrashing about. So, here is what happened the following week because, at this point, I’m just a husk of a person missing a shadow. Let’s go into some detail about how I processed/am still processing grief so that you can maybe learn from my musings.
1. I showed up at my favorite bar, Joe’s, immediately after, where everyone already knew what had happened due to my partner informing people and also being there to greet me. Because I was wearing makeup, I did my best to stop looking like a sobbing mess whose life was just altered in a blink of an eye. I love raccoons, but raccoon eyes are awful and not sexy...like, I planned on having sex that night. I’m so funny. I was bought several rounds of margaritas and tequila shots, given many kind wishes and hugs, and a funny bit was said about how I mentioned I always had a resting bitch face, but tonight my face looked different (very funny, you).
2. I proceeded to drink through the weekend, to try not to process things. Alcohol really helped here. My eyes began to look like swelled-up cotton balls that could barely open. I’m sure a mix of dehydration caused by alcohol and sobbing will do that. I was as lovely as I have ever been. Went to more bars; I don’t remember half of what happened this weekend.
3. I then took Monday and Tuesday off...to actually attempt to start processing. This was also when I decided that he really wasn’t coming back, and I needed to pack up his things. I still have his things—they aren’t going anywhere. I just can’t look at them right now, or I’ll get those cotton ball-raccoon eyes again. I just started wearing makeup again, so leave me alone with that.
4. My partner took me on adventures on Monday and Tuesday. We went to a reptile museum out in the middle of nowhere, and I almost stole a very friendly turtle—because turtles live for, like...100 years, which would mean I’d theoretically never have to process this sort of grief again. But, alas, I did not steal the turtle. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t already planned out where I was going to keep the stolen turtle and the adventures I could have had walking him around town and the various shrubs I’d let them eat. Grief makes you crazy. I think I was pretty rational not to have stolen the turtle in the first place.
5. Tuesday, we went and ate a burger at some place that made smash burgers (I literally had no idea this type of burger had a name, I just knew this was how my dad made burgers) and went to see the Bob’s Burgers movie. My partner snuck in some of my disgusting Old Grand Dad (not bonded, so yuck) and mixed it into our Pepsi brand root beer we ordered. Side note, a medium-sized beverage is the size of a regular-sized newborn baby. Why is America so fat?
6. After Tuesday, I had to go back to work. My boss called me and asked that I "not kill myself." He then attempted to rewind and say, "I meant...don’t work too hard." I told him it was one or the other, but if he wanted me to have the day off, he should just tell me, so I can go kill myself off the clock. He didn’t laugh as much as I thought he would.
7. Thursday was when things started to churn in my brain, and my emotions were all over the place. I thought I had made it to the "acceptance" stage, but apparently, grief likes to take its own routes, and whether or not you actually have accepted something as fact, you might get to relive the grief over...and over...and over again. Thursday was laundry day. Usually, an easy task and not one that requires much willpower, but everything weighs 100 lbs. or more when your body is grieving, so this was work.
I was about to take my laundry out of the communal dryer when some old bitty decided that today was the day she was going to remove my laundry...again. Yes, she’s done this before. Not a minute after, the alarm went off. So, me being the rational adult I was at the time, I looked her dead in the eyes and slapped my hands against each other, berating her and talking as if I was attempting to give a stern lesson to an 8-year-old who just pushed some kid off a swing. I removed my laundry by shoving her out of the way (mind you, she is like...82 years old) and left the laundry room screaming multiple profanities until I got to our apartment door. I screamed so hard that our roommate’s dog barked. She has never talked or even looked me in the eye since. I win.
8. I then went back to Joe’s and attempted, poorly, to do standup.
All in all, I think I might be winning this grief thing. That turtle better look out, though.
Hannah One Cup can be found drinking all your liquor and texting you at 3 in the morning, explaining how much she appreciates you. She also does standup sometimes and is currently in the middle of summer, where she makes an overabundance of Hawaiian Macaroni Salad that needs to get eaten by someone. She appreciates everyone that gave her their time and love and thanks all who ever showed George a bit of love.
