Ever notice how sudden and unexpected grief also brings rage? It sweeps through your entire system churning up whatever is in there, layers of sediment like in a creek bed. Sandy, sparkly, mucky, brown rotting leaves. The water gets cloudy.

The day after my dog Devon died, I was driving for a full ten minutes before I realized I didn’t have my seat belt on. Grief messes with your head, scatters your thoughts.

The night Devon’s soul left his body (and yes I believe dogs have souls) I was there at the critical care vet center. The overnight technician with the kind eyes wheeled his body on a gurney into the small sterile room with the box of tissues. After crying for a couple hours and using most of the tissues, I buzzed for her. It was still hard to leave his body. She said, it’s ok, one person last night stayed six hours.

The next day grief was here in full force, like one of those guests Rumi says to invite in, to welcome and entertain, “even if they are violently sweeping your house empty of its furniture.”

“It’s the Goddamn Roundup that everyone in this neighborhood uses on their lawns!” I angrily snorted to my husband. “Why else do so many dogs get cancer!” I wanted to smash something, instead I went out into the sunny day and lie down on the grass in the same spot that my dog loved. More tears. What else would cause an 8-year-old beautiful healthy dog go from happy, tail wagging and smiling one day to unable to breathe the next day? How long had the cancer been growing, spidery gray webs on the x-ray etching his lungs? Two golf ball sized tumors in his abdomen. We never noticed those killer lumps tucked deep inside growing silently evil. He never whined or showed signs of distress until he couldn’t breathe.

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Now a week later the waters are clearing a bit. Life refuses to stand still for your grief, your rage, your pain.

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Jane Goodall says her favorite animal is a dog. I can see why. I’d rather be influenced by the dignity and elegance of a dog, the short lives, the cold clean truths contained in grief.

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As the layers get ruffled, if you are able to observe- you see glimmers of truth. I’m finally done with certain types of bullshit.  You don’t need to know what the specific bullshit is. For me it’s noticing the ways in which I do things for people who are not capable of responding in kind. There is a freedom to letting go of investing energy in those who are- for whatever reason, not able to return or receive.

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Or as Rumi writes- these unexpected house guests, “may be clearing you out for some new delight.”

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