When They’ve Become Your Heart…

by Your Evil Auntie

Just had some unexpected drama here at our morning coffee haunt.

Sweet kid (probably in his late 20s. I’ve reached the age where there are a lot of “kids” out there now) we’ve seen a few times come in with his dog walked in alone this morning, walked over to our big table and burst into tears.

He collapsed onto one octagenarian’s shoulder and just wailed.

Seems his dog, a very sweet elderly yellow lab mix called Zowie (pronounced “Zoe-wee”), died suddenly of a hemorrhage the other day. He’d adopted the dog when she was five, after his Dad died. The kid’d had her for the past six years and fell madly in love with her. She really was his heart, and those of you who have made that sort of connection with an animal know what I mean when I say that.

Before he left, the kid apologized for falling apart and (with his permission) I gave him a hug (he held onto me hard for a long time) and told him he could fall apart around me any fucking time he needs to.

My message here?

Please be there for folks who go through stuff like this. Don’t tell them that they will “get over it” or “it was just a <pet type>” or anything like that.

Grief doesn’t have a timetable. It lasts as long as it lasts, whether it’s a day or a lifetime. Fuck anyone who says otherwise.

This is/was a real loss that someone is grieving over and you being a dick isn’t going to help things one tiny bit.

Today, Ron (the octogenarian) reminded me a bit of my Dad with the compassion and goddamned empathy he showed a kid whose name he doesn’t even actually know.

This gives me hope for the world.