A letter for love lost

Image by Gráinne Schäfer

by Mel Zimmerman

With all the destruction and death in the world of late, it makes me wonder why discussions around death are often avoided.
 
The experience
When we experience death and grief first hand, it leaves a profound mark that can only be fully understood when we have walked that difficult road. It can feel like life is happening around you, and you’ve stopped. Everyone seems to be in an endless motion and you feel like you’ve fallen out of the stream of life.
 
My personal loss
My personal journey with death started long ago, however I will focus on the last 10 years. This is the period where compassion came into my life and changed the way I live.
 
Loss has been the main theme of my recent difficulties. The loss of a career, I thought would take me to retirement years. A career that provided a strong identity and sense of self, gone.
 
Then in 2019 both my paternal grandparents died in Switzerland, so we had no funeral or family to mourn with. My maternal grandmother also died in 2019 – shit year that 2019 was!
 
After caring for her aging mother, and nursing my father through his motor neuron disease, progressive supranuclear palsy, my mother died at the start of COVID in Australia, April 2020. My father finally found peace last November, 2021.
 
Grief response
 
Grief is something that takes a toll. We often suggest to our clients to write a letter to a lost loved one.
 
Today I’m here to share a letter my departed mother penned at an unknown time. When I read this letter it seemed to capture much of the grief I have been trying to process these last few years. It captures a compassionate response in a moment of grief – demonstrating all aspects of courage, strength, wisdom, and commitment to caring.

 

Buddy
You taught me how fragile life is.
You were here so quickly, you blended right into our hearts,
And then you were gone.
You left before your time.
Such a short time…
The technology to save you couldn’t work fast enough, & we lost you.
There you were, lying so still and your breathing was so faint you were barely alive, your eyes were full of fear.
I found a chair and sat with you, my face so close to yours. My arm along your back and my hand cupped your little chest.
I said hello to you & the fear left your eyes & as a little glassy eye dropped a tear you began a laboured breath, then your throat made a little noise & you seemed to switch from here &
You were gone.
I sat with you stunned at the fragility of life.
I didn’t tell the vet that I thought you’d left. He’d gone to another’s aid so I could spend a little longer with you. So on his return he didn’t check, he didn’t ask, & I didn’t tell him – I just kept talking to you, even after he’d given you the needle & he’d said – “He’s already gone you know.”
I’ve cried for days & still feel numb.
I just wanted you to know how much I loved you little ‘buddy’.
And I’m sorry you didn’t grow up.
But your 4 months endeared you to every heart you met.
You were special!
Such a wonderful little soul.
Thank you for your visit, we loved you dearly.
See you later “Buddy”.

 
I have no idea who Buddy was. My grandparents owned a farm and had a love of animals, including dogs. My assumption is Buddy was a family pet.
 
Whoever Buddy was, my mother had a beautiful full human moment. Despite the difficulty we face as humans, the best thing we can give to each other is ourselves. Taking that first compassionate step in acknowledging the pain and suffering of another, as well as the pain and suffering we experience ourselves. Whoever your Buddy is, just be there, speak kind words, give of yourself, and then to yourself.
 
My personal Buddy experience
I had a Buddy moment with my beloved dog Stretch, as he was taken too soon by a suspected brain tumour. I held his face, looked into his eyes, and told him how much I loved him. I did this until the moment he left. To this day I feel so privileged to have spent many wonderful days with Stretch. Knowing I did what I could to give him the best I could until his final breath. I will do the same for little Evie, who has been a great companion ever since.
 
Please love deeply. Despite the pain grief and loss causes, the love of our human and animal beings is definitely worth it.
 
Like Paul Gilbert, the founder of Compassion Focused Therapy says – the pain we feel is the cost of caring. If we didn’t care so much it would not hurt so much. Thank you so much Paul. I’m not sure you know how helpful those words have been to myself and many of my clients.
 
No matter who or what you have lost - write a letter, or poem, or just write, and let penned expression help you process your grief.
 
I don’t have a photo of Buddy, but here are Stretch and Evie:

This article originally appeared in the CMA newsletter. You can subscribe to the newsletter here.