LOSSES THAT COME WITH LOSS

'What Grief Takes, What It Reveals & How We Learn To Live Again'
Personal Story by Elizabeth Blake-Thomas

I was unaware that once the initial loss had happened, other losses would continue.

Nine months ago, my four-legged soulmate, Chai, a 13-year-old Maltese, unexpectedly passed away. I had no idea how I would handle her loss. I had never been a member of the grief club before. I had a part-time membership that meant I joined when I had a loss in my life, but that membership was quickly rescinded when I felt better.
This, however, was now a lifetime membership, with all the benefits. These included losing friends, losing family, losing a routine, losing yourself, losing time, and losing the meaning of life.

Please remember this is only my experience. I’m only writing these words out loud so that if they help someone feel seen, then it allows me to discuss the other elements of the club: the empathic part. The element that means you can recognize in someone something so deep that has affected them. All you need to do is show your membership card and suddenly there is a deep level of understanding that is almost unexplainable.

There is also the mutual understanding of behavior during these different times, and the ability to give someone permission to feel without worrying about when those feelings should be over and life should carry on as normal.
See my previous article for “the new normal.”

Loss of Self
From a practical perspective, I didn’t recognize myself in my clothes or my style. I was always known as the hat and the dog lady. So now, who was I?

It wasn’t that my clothes defined me. I hadn’t been shopping for years. But it was deeper than that. I didn’t fit my body. It didn’t feel like me. But it’s not that easy to suddenly remember who you were and go back to it, because you will never be that person again. A new self has to be built.

This possibly hits differently depending on your age. For me, 47 is a defining age anyway. It’s a transformative moment of asking yourself what you want for the next half of your life.

My life was pretty darn perfect in my eyes. I got to earn in a career I enjoyed. I lived with my human and animal best friend. Each morning, I would hug my daughter and we would begin our workday together. We lived in LA, where the weather is stunning.

My soulmate stayed by my side and did everything with me. I almost didn’t need to worry about who I was because it was just occurring around me. My life was “me.” People would even comment on the light and energy around me. My sense of self felt pretty solid, which is why it might have hit me even harder. This was not in my plan. I didn’t know I would have to relearn everything about myself, questioning every decision of who I was, how I behaved, and how I felt.

The biggest self-realization happened when I received my autistic diagnosis. Suddenly, my self made sense from a deep-rooted place, as opposed to a surface level. Then I began to remember what felt good around me and what didn’t. In fact, recognizing what I didn’t like was almost more important. The way I decided to live my days practically, physically, and mentally all changed. I’m still working it out because it’s a process. It’s life. It’s like I’m relearning everything and seeing it all for the first time. A rebirth, if you will.
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​Loss of Routine
Loss of routine hit me harder because of my autism. It was something I hadn’t realized I needed so deeply. I thought it was normal to have a plan or schedule every day, to have a list and know what was happening, when, how, and where. Because I lived with my daughter and we shared a car, I assumed it was just because I liked being organized. But I hadn’t realized how dependent I was on the routine of being a dog mama. It defined me. It created my day-to-day existence.

Suddenly, I didn’t have to go out first thing in the morning. I didn’t have a “get up and walk” every few hours to take her to the bathroom or remind myself I needed it. We had the same routine for eating and walking and even going to the loo. I would food shop for her and grab things for myself. We ate the same foods: zucchini, lentils, sweet potato, cucumber, mango, carrots. All of that ended. The time I had allocated to prepare for the day and make sure she had everything she needed was gone.

I was physically and mentally lost. We even had the same schedule for getting our hair washed and cut. I would time my trips with her visits to the “spa for pups.” My entire routine was upended. Suddenly, there was no one else to consider or think about. I only had myself, and I don’t really need anything. She made me aware of my needs, and now that had gone.

Loss of Time
I don’t remember ages 0 to 7. My memories are pretty sketchy until college, and after that, who knows what’s real and what isn’t. The last nine months have felt similar.

The first three months, I remember absolutely nothing. Then I remember things in pieces, but often need to be reminded. Even now, I sometimes have to check in with what was real and what wasn’t. Did I feel something because of grief and mourning, or was it actual truth?
Time feels different now as well. I always believed in the make-the-most-of-it, do-everything-you-can philosophy, and I still think that was the right way to live. Chai came everywhere with me: red carpets, the South of France, movie sets, holidays, every podcast and interview I was on. But now time feels different. How do I want to spend it? Where? And with whom? I question being at home. In fact, I question every decision. Am I staying because I’m sad? Because I can’t be bothered? Because I just don’t want to go out? Or because I’m lazy?

I’m beginning to recognize what I actually want to put my time into. I’m a day person. By 6pm, I’m quite happy to go home and spend a quiet evening in. I crave spending that time with Chai. I miss her terribly. But I’ve decided not to fill my time just to forget because that will come back and haunt me later in life. So instead, I have cups of tea. I read books. I watch TV. I paint. I write. I had to learn not to feel guilty. Before, I filled my time because it was running out. That hasn’t changed, but now I’m far more present. Living in the here and now. Which leads me to the next loss.

Loss of Friends and Family
I had no idea that my loss would be so decisive and sever so many ties. I didn’t expect that some people I thought would understand would become my greatest adversaries, and others I barely knew would rally for me.

Because I initially chose to stay home and not go out, I didn’t want to constantly explain myself every time I ran into someone. During that time, I realized who reached out and who didn’t. Now don’t get me wrong. This doesn’t include the people who I could sense simply didn’t know what to say, but still left messages saying they understood. And I want to say very clearly that I don’t judge people for how they behaved.

Grief is indescribable for the person going through it, so how on earth can the people around you know how to respond if you don’t even know yourself? So this isn’t about blaming others. It actually came down to me. Seeing my life in a new way meant I wasn’t going to the events I used to attend. My habits changed, and those casual friendships naturally faded. The way I saw friends and family changed too. Travel changed. Priorities changed. So on the first layer, change happened organically. Then that left space to see who remained. Who I still felt connected to. Who understood the new me, the me I hadn’t even figured out yet. By listening to myself more deeply, I began to recognize who still fit into my life and who didn’t. The truth is, it’s a lot less.

​Loss of Meaning
Finally, the one we are all trying to work out anyway, whether we have suffered loss or not. But normally it feels more manageable. Now it felt like life was over. What was the point? Everything I thought I knew dissipated.

As the song says, “all you need is love.” And it’s true. The love I had from my soulmate was gone. The unconditional love that surrounded my life every day had disappeared. Without even realizing it, my purpose, from everyday moments to future plans, had vanished. Please know I recognize I have my daughter, who I love more than anything. But this was different.

Chai was with me when I arrived in LA and began my new life here. I had never filmed a movie without her on my director’s chair. No one here knew me without Chai. I went through my divorce with her. She was next to my heart, our two hearts beating as one 24/7. So when she left, my meaning felt like it had been taken too. I later learned this can feel similar to what carers experience. If the person you care for dies, what then? It can also mirror the loss of a child or partner.

When unconditional love is present every moment of your life, it makes sense that its absence feels like half of life has disappeared. So how do we find meaning again? Did we ever really know it? Or is the meaning of life supposed to grow and change with us?

Living Again
So what if this is life? A natural progression of growth and movement within ourselves and the world around us. As things change, it’s only natural that our perception of life and self changes too. Is it scary? Absolutely. But if we allow the natural ebb and flow of love and loss, life and death, and allow ourselves to feel those losses and talk about them, maybe it wouldn’t feel so lonely.

For me now, my self is learning to live again. To allow myself to make mistakes. To question everything. To live a more peaceful, calm, and kind life. To recognize that my time is precious and begin deciding how I want to spend it. To recognize who I want around me in these new discoveries. And finally, to understand that all I truly have is here and now.

So the question becomes: What am I going to do and feel today?

If this resonates in even the smallest way with you, on any level, please share it. You never know how it might help someone else as well. ∎