So I normally try to keep a pretty upbeat message going onto my blog but I am just going off a little on this one.
For the longest time I always thought that I was the coldest person when it came to death. I would cry during a movie if it was happy or if one of the characters died, but when my grandmother died I never shed a tear. I didn't think much of it at the time, but then my mom would come and tell me as I got older that someone else had died and the only reaction that I would show is laughter. I know it sounds horrible and I felt bad as well.
So for the longest time I was always wondering, if one of my friends or family members would pass away, would I cry? I started thinking all this again recently because I now look at some people at work as close friends that I can talk to about things that are on my mind. What would my reaction be if one day they didn't show up to work and I was told they wouldn't show up ever again? I mean I felt worry when one of my co-workers called in sick three days in a row. "Are they okay? I wish I could do something." But when the final stroke on their life occurred, would I feel anything?
About two months ago one of my best friends and closest family members passed away. My dog, Shiloh a small, white, curly haired dog in which I watched grow up alongside of me. We noticed he wasn't doing well about mid June of this year, but at first we didn't think much of it. He got better, doing his usual things, and then one night he would get sick again and each time it would get worse. Then one weekend after doing so well for almost two weeks, my brother came home before he had to leave for another rotation, and once he left it seemed like Shiloh gave up. Like he just wanted to see Stephen one more time before he let go. I felt guilty for leaving him home alone sick on Sunday night, he wouldn't eat or drink and he could barely walk, but my mom reassured me that he would be fine. I should have stayed home. When I returned he looked frightened to be alone, I walked over and scooped him up in my arms and held him tightly to my chest. That night I put him on my parents bed and said goodnight, kissed him on the head and headed off.
The next morning my mom woke me up, and told me that he had passed away. I didn't cry, I just walked out to my parents room and touched his head. I knew he was gone, there was no presence left there for me to feel. I just watched my dad put his body into a blanketed box and put him in the garage until he got home. I crawled back into bed and fell asleep. Later when I woke up I was angry with myself "Why wasn't I crying? I cry during movies but I can't cry when someone I loved just passed away?" However that night when we were taking his body to the vet, I wanted to hold the box, but one thing I was not anticipating was the emotion I would get from feeling the weight of his small little body on my lap. All the way to the vet I was sobbing like a baby. I whispered one last goodbye before I took his body into the vet and that was it. That's when I knew, that I will cry....eventually.
Although at times I still feel like I have something wrong with me, aren't people suppose to grieve for quite sometime? One day is hardly what I call grieving over a loved one.