The Sadness of Endings

Jodi Richard
Sep 8, 2018 · 3 min read

A little over two weeks ago we said goodbye to our dog Lexie. She was beautiful and sweet, and her energy seemed to get my family through many tough times. Deciding to help a pet move on is never easy. You can wonder if it’s too early and your head is full of doubts and “what if’s.” Or you can wonder if you let them go too late and then you feel horrible, and find yourself apologizing to their memory over and over. Thankfully, in Lexie’s case, she made it clear it was time, and we had no second thoughts. She lived a long and very loved life, a White German Shepherd who, at 16, had never been sick except for her last three weeks when she declined quickly. A rescue dog couldn’t dream of a better life.

The fact that she passed away exactly a month after my husband and I signed our divorce agreement did not dawn on me until this past weekend, when I received the call that her ashes were ready for me to pick up. At that moment the finality of everything crashed down on me like a huge wave. Lexie was with us through most of our marriage. She was there as our children grew from playful tots into the teenagers they are now. During her time with us things could be wonderful or they could be bad, but whenever we looked at Lexie she always helped us smile. Now she’s gone, now my marriage is over, now my kids are almost grown and need me less than before. Now I’m left here trying to figure out what’s next. Everything has changed, and I wanted things to change, and yet maybe a part of me didn’t want anything to change at all. I’m not saying that I still want to be married, I don’t, but I do want us to remain friends, for ourselves and for our children. Our marriage wasn’t horrible, it just evolved into something that was not right for either of us, and the finality of all of that is sad.

Lexie’s passing made me realize that throughout the year long divorce process I was all business and procedure. I never mourned the loss of our marriage and our family unit. By brushing all of those feelings under the carpet I was denied myself a chance to grow, to really move freely on to the next stage of my life. And perhaps, by not sharing these feelings with my ex, I was holding him back too.

Of course these realizations scare me, because they mean that I’m changing, growing, evolving. And then what happens? Who will I be when I emerge from this? What if my new partner doesn’t like the new me? What if my kids find this person too different, not enough like the mom they grew up with? Will I lose my close friends? Yes, I know that if you are true to yourself the right people will be there with you. That sounds wonderful when you’re standing in the sunshine on the beach, but not so wonderful when you’re getting tossed around like a piece of driftwood in the tumultuous waves.

Change is always frightening. Fight it and you end up lost at sea, or allow it to happen and find yourself on the beach, beaten and exhausted but not lost. After you get your bearings, you do an assessment to see what parts of you survived and what parts stayed in the water. Then you take time to look in the mirror and see who you are now, and then begin to figure out how this new you can operate in the world.

Even in her death Lexie is still there for me, for our family. Her life with us was a gift, and that gift lives on. Mourning her death opened the door that allowed me to also mourn the end of my marriage, the end of our family, the end of my youth, and the end of one stage of life so that I can begin the next. Thank you for everything you gave us Lexie, in life and in death.

Jodi Richard

Written by

Mother, runner, skier, and writer who is just trying to figure out how to enjoy life and encourage harmony.

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