I don't know why I am thinking of this tonight. Perhaps it's one more step in the lengthy healing process.

I am remember an incident that I call my "heartbreak moment". It was a moment of such utter devastation and gut wrenching grief that I thought my heart was being torn in half.

It happened last fall, about two or three months after Luba died. I was puttering in the backyard for the first time in a long time, and I pulled away some branches of a bush in the yard. There lay one of Luba's "special balls" . It had somehow been missed when I had taken all of the others away. It lay there as it had been dropped when my girl had dropped it after an intense game. It lay there and I fell apart. There would never be another game of fetch with Luba. Never.

I don't think I had another moment that hit me as hard with the reality that my girl was now permanently out of my life.

Forunately, this moment passed, and life has continued, but I wonder if others have had similar experiences.

Hi Steph,

I can totally relate! I know you are familiar with the story of how I built Little Man a box to sit in while we were riding the tractor to do our work of the farm. I inheirted that old tractor from my Grandpa and it was the only one I had when I got Little Man. Years later, I bought a newer one and the seat on it was big enough for both me and Little Man. I stored the old tractor in the barn, covered with a tarp.

A few months after I lost Little Man, I tried to use the newer tractor but it wouldn't start so I went to the barn to get the old one (it's always proven to be more reliable the the newer one) I hadn't used the old tractor since losing Little Man and when I removed the tarp and saw that little box sitting there still containing the little pillow he always sat on, I just lost it and sit there and cried like a baby. It hit me full-force that I wasn't going to have him in this lifetime again and I had honestly thought I hadn't been holding back any emotions about his death....boy was I wrong!

Though it was very painful, it was the good kind of cry....the healing kind and I did feel much better after it was all over. I realized it was a very important part of the grieving process. I had heard others speak of the healing tears...I now knew exactly what they were talking about.

It still amazes me as to how powerful my sense of loss can be at times. Several times I have considered removing the little box, thinking maybe it would help bring some sense of closure. I have come to understand that the little box is every bit as sentimental to me as the tractor itself. It and the old tractor will remain together for the rest of my days, they are both reminders of happier times in my life and I'll cherish those wonderful memories always.

Thanks Steph for bringing up this subject-----it helped me greatly to talk about it.

I, too, would like to know if others have similiar stories to share.

__Jim

Steph,
I had a "moment" this week.

All things considered I have been doing not too badly at all, but for some reason this shook me too the core.

I had always kept the cat carrier on top of the cupboard. Inside it was Ellie's vaccination certificate and some cash in an envelope together with a list of good catteries.

This was supposed to be for dire emergencies only and for if anything happened to me when I was away from home and I had to call someone to go to my house and deal with everything. (I would never normally put her in a cattery - this was emergency planning only.)

I thought I had put everything like that away. But this week the envelope containing the papers fluttered down from the top of the cupboard when I was reaching for something else. It had all my carefully laid out instructions as to how to look after Ellie should something happen to me. It made me burst into tears when I realise that she would never need it.

Sounds silly I expect, but I couldn't throw this bit of paper away. It would have been like throwing a part of Ellie away. Instead I cut the paper into about ten pieces and on the back of each piece I wrote, "Beautiful Ellie I Love You", "Angel Ellie", and similar little loving sentences on each piece. I then went down the garden and burnt the pieces of paper in a little silver dish and as I watched the smoke rise up I imagined I was sending all these ten messages of love to Ellie.

love
jilly

As a matter of fact, I did have a moment like that myself recently. However, it sounds strange, but it wasn't from an "object" but from the weather. The first warm day we had here, a few weeks ago, it reached the 70's. I was out in a restuarant having lunch with my mother and I suddenly broke out into tears. I kept thinking how much Rachael loved the warmer weather and how SAD, SAD, SAD it will be this summer without her. All the wonderful summer activities that she enjoyed will be so hard to do without her. It was like it had just hit me that she won't be here for summer. I had a big cry, realized just how much I still really miss my sweet Rachael, and then moved on. We've had several more warm days since then, but it hasn't hit me like it did that FIRST warm day since Rachael passed.

Steph, you are always so helpful in pointing out all the stages/phases we tend to go through. I didn't realize what I experienced that day was probably "common" for all of us that are grieving. Thanks!

Cheri

I actually had one of those moments yesterday. It's kind of a weird one...but it's mine!

Kasha was a long haired cat who needed almost constant brushing to avoid huge and painful mats in her fur (we called them Kahsa clumps...nice eh?). She loved the way she looked when she was all brushed out and beautiful but she HATED being brushed more than anything in the world. I was constantly trying to come up with "brushing games" for her so that I could give her a good brushing at least once a week. She learned to run for her life every time she saw that brush come out even though I had about 10 different ones in an attempt to fool her...she was far too smart for that though. Arthritis, kidney stones.....nothing could stop her from shooting out of the room like her tail was on fire every time she saw me coming with anything that even resembled a brush.

My smart cat took any chance she got to steal and hide those brushes. She would sneak into the closet and would relocate all brush-like items all over the house. I found brushes burried in her litter box more than once (now THAT'S a clear sign that she hated brushings).

After she died I went around and collected all of the brushes from under the furniture, under the fridge, IN the couch, under the bed, and so on but I didn't think to check the patio because winter had already begun to blow in and I was never out there. Yesterday, I went out to prepare my clay pots for planting flowers in a few weeks and when I dumped the old dirt out of the biggest one I found one of Kasha's brushes burried way down deep. (The old girl must have put a heck of an effort into that one....she was so arthritic in her last few years) I picked it up when I realized what it was and noticed that it was still full of her soft, fluffy hair (covered in dirt mind you but it was instantly recognisible) and I fell apart. My little boy was staring at me like I had gone mad while I sat down in the dirt and had myself a little cry for Akasha.

I miss her so much.....I remember her so clearly. The little brown fleck in her huge green eyes is clear as day in my mind. I could imagine those green eyes laughing at me from heaven when I finally found that last stolen brush.

I hope there are no clumps in Heaven Kash.....

Kristie

Wow, it looks like a lot of us had heartbreak moments. Thank you for sharing yours. I feel less alone reading how other people have dealt with these things....

My "heartbreak" moment is fast approaching. I dread the fact that I have to face going into the backyard to plant a bush of some kind in memory of my precious Rusty. I've managed to avoid looking at and going near the spot where he's buried since he left me in December. Now that the warm weather is finally here, I've got to do it. I hope to be in a more peaceful place when that job is done.

Lynn

Hi Steph,

I have also had one of those moments. Sasha, my Scottie, would always hide and hoard her cookies. Even though I give my dogs treats in the morning and at night every day, she would never just eat the treat like my other dog Skipper. Instead she would bury it somewhere. I have found dog treats all over my house.

I decided I should get my flowerpots ready for putting in some flowers since the weather is getting nice. I was hoeing the dirt in a large pot, and sure enough at the bottom of the pot I found a dog biscuit. Only my Sasha would do that since Skipper immediately eats them as does my new dog Shelby. Seeing that just made me cry. The other amazing thing about it is that this was a big deep pot and she had buried her buscuit there and I had never noticed that the soil had been disturbed.

Nancy (Sasha's Mom)

These stories are all so sad.

I do think that they are a step in getting us to a place of more peace.

Yup, had one tonite. My back was hurting as I sat on my bed and was reconciling my checking account. It's one of the few things I was able to do all week other than work. I knelt on the floor and continued what I was doing and suddenly something came and bumped me on my knee. My first reaction was it's Coco and I smild and then I remembered, she's not here anymore. It was Pilgrim, the other bunny roaming around. Coco used to do that when I would get on my knees sometimes in the morning or evening to pray. I haven't been able to cry much this week at all even though it is all I want to do. Instead I do the things I "should", go to work, eat, feed Gabriel and Pilgrim, it's like a robotic routine. Hopefully, this weekend, even if I have to put on some sad country music, I know I need to let the tears flow. Thank you all for sharing.

One of my first heart wrenching moments came when I was driving down a country road Moose and I traveled alot. I could always see him in the rear view mirror as I drove or he would lay his head on my shoulder as I drove. There was a moment when such grief came from my inner most being that it could only come out in a scream " Please God, not my Moose" It was grief like I had never felt, it poured out in uncontrolable screams. It makes me cry to think of that moment of realization. Pamela