“You cannot know what you cannot feel.” – Mary Shelley
I hiked a trail this week that I had unconsciously avoided for 4 years and didn’t realize until I wrote a post about patterns. The last time before now that I had walked it was after I miscarried a baby at 10 weeks. But more than that, this trail reminds me of loss because I walked it so often with my beloved dad and dog.
When my dad died suddenly 7 years ago after colliding with a car on his bike, I naturally went through a range of emotions. One of the most recurrent was gratitude that my dad didn’t have to get old. When he died at age 79, he was still so vibrant and fit, retired but so active in the organizations he cared about. He would have made a terrible old person if somehow limited in what he could do. And he never had to find out.
Then my beautiful golden retriever collapsed on a walk 5 years ago when he was almost 14 years old. He was such an amazing companion, enthusiastic and faithful, and I was so grateful that the vet made it clear that the time had come and saved me and my dog the angst of trying to cure a cancer that would just torture us both.
After I lost my pregnancy in miscarriage, two years later I had my son. I have two happy and healthy kids that have a relationship that seems perfect for the age difference between them. I’m so grateful that how life worked out set their capabilities at just this range.
I truly live in all that gratitude AND still avoid the trail. When I walked it, I remembered all the times my dad and I walked and talked about so many deep and interesting subjects. I could practically see the way Biscuit the dog would wiggle in excitement at the trailhead and come out the other side so muddy and happy. I felt their absence so clearly but more than that, I felt their presence.
As I visited the beautiful old trees I’ve missed so much and looked out onto the amazing view of Puget Sound stretched before me, I realized that not feeling their losses didn’t save me any grief. It only robbed me of the opportunity to go walking with my dearly departed yet again.
We lose things in life. But we don’t have to set aside a part of ourselves to go along with them. I remember this every time I let myself feel the loss all the way through. More often than not, it isn’t that I’m consciously blocking feeling it, instead I’m just choosing to feel the gratitude instead of the ache. Then something like this trail comes along and reminds me that the ache is proof that the enthusiasm of my dad and the loyalty of my dog are with me still.
