Belated Anniversary Celebration

January 12 will always be a special day. In 1996, it was the day that I drove up to the SPCA in San Francisco, in the hopes of winning the lottery for the German Shepherd named Lucky – and obviously, I was lucky enough to have the winning number that day.

That night (the day I “got Lucky”) my family and friends came over to celebrate her arrival into my life. We popped open some champagne and toasted the special occasion, although, I don’t think anyone knew, except maybe Lucky, what a special occasion it truly was and how my life was going to change from that day forward.

Lucky loved meeting everyone that first night and even decided to join in the celebration by sticking her tongue into my dad’s champagne glass that was resting on the edge of the coffee table. I remember being shocked that my dad didn’t even flinch, as he picked up his glass and continued to drink from it, even though he had just seen Lucky’s tongue in it. Some people might have poured it out and washed the glass, but my dad didn’t seem to be bothered. It’s something that still brings a smile to my face.

Here’s a picture of my parents with Lucky, and her first stuffed animal, Dino, on her first night at my house. I can’t remember if this picture was taken before or after she sampled her first taste of champagne but I do remember what a happy night it was.

For thirteen years, we celebrated January 12^th (our anniversary). In the early years, we always marked the occasion by invited some friends over and opening a bottle of champagne. As time went on, our anniversary celebrations became a little more personal, with Lucky and I going to our favorite beach and sometimes, weather permitting, stopping off at our favorite restaurant to sit on the outside patio for a bite to eat.

So, as January 12^th approached this year, I was looking forward to honoring me and Lucky’s special day. I didn’t want to let this year go by without marking the occasion, even though Lucky wasn’t physically here anymore. My plan was to go to our beach and since I had been there on Christmas Day and didn’t fall apart, I was confident that I would be able to make another trip to our beach without any problems.

When I woke up on January 12^th though, I realized my plan may be thwarted. The grief had come back and it was so thick, I felt like I was under water. After wandering around the house aimlessly for what seemed like hours, I pulled out the video of news coverage that I have from Lucky’s adoption, thinking that maybe that would help. I watched the footage of them pulling the winning ticket out of the fishbowl and calling my number . . . and saw myself walking into the “get acquainted” room at the shelter to meet Lucky for the first time. Tears streamed down my face as I watched her roll over on her back as I approached her and saw how she wrapped her paws so tightly around my arm when I put my hand on her chest.

The emotions I was feeling were overwhelming. While I have watched the news coverage of her adoption countless times over the years, it had never hit me quite this hard. I then pulled out the video of our last four months together and watched that. It was almost surreal to see the two parts of our lives juxtaposed against one another – our first day together, when we were so young and so new to each other . . . and our final months, when we had grown so much and come into our own as true partners. We had traveled so far together and for as much as I wanted to celebrate our journey, all I could feel was the enormous hole in my heart. I missed her so much, my whole body ached.

The rest of the day was a blur. I think I cried harder that day than I did the day Lucky passed away. I couldn’t understand why the grief was so debilitating and why, when I was so sure I was going to have a wonderful day at the beach that day, I was unable to even leave the house, let alone brush my teeth. I cried so hard that in moments, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to catch my breath between sobs. It was the longest and most difficult day I have had since she passed away.

A few weeks later, one of my best friends suggested that we go to the beach and watch the sunset, since he knew how bummed out I was about not being able to celebrate on the 12th. While it sounded like a nice idea, I quickly came up with a list of reasons it might not be a good idea, mostly that I might fall apart again and I wasn’t ready to go to that dark place again so soon. I suggested that maybe we could go to a different beach, not me and Lucky’s special beach, as maybe that would be a safer alternative.

Being the true gem that he is, he let me know that if we went to the special beach, and I fell apart, that would be ok. He assured me that we’d just deal with it, if that’s what happened. With a little trepidation on my part, we got in the car and drove over the hill. He brought along a bottle of champagne, to make it more of a celebration.

When we got out of the car, we both realized how cold it was, and as we were zipping our jackets up and bracing ourselves against the cold, he asked if I had a blanket we could bring with us . . . at the same time, our eyes both went to the backseat of my car, where Lucky’s blanket still covers the seat. He said, “It’s ok, we don’t need a blanket” and I laughed as I said, “It’s really ok, we can bring Lucky’s blanket down there with us.” So, armed with the blanket, the champagne, plastic champagne glasses and a camera, we made our way to the top of the stairs.

He had never been there with me before, so I was able to distract myself by playing “tour guide” . . . pointing out all the steps we were about to walk down, sharing stories about trips I had taken to this beach over the years and things that had occurred.

We found a spot on the sand and took a seat. He popped opened the champagne and poured us each a glass. I told myself to just breath . . . and after a couple of deep breaths, I could feel Lucky’s presence. It made my eyes well up with tears but happy tears, not sad tears. I said, “She’s here.” He smiled at me and nodded. I could hear her say, “It’s about time you got him here.” I couldn’t believe I was actually hearing her, since I never seem to be able to hear her when I try. Clearly, she was pleased that we had made this trip to the beach.

As I looked out at the water, I decided it was one of the most beautiful sunsets I had ever seen. It felt so good to be there again and I was thrilled that I was getting the chance to honor our anniversary, even if it was several weeks late. We stayed until the sun had completely set and then figured we’d better make our way back up the stairs before it was too dark to see where we were going. I stopped a couple of times on the way back up to turn around, look at the beach and breath it all in again.

When we got into the car to drive back home, I thanked him for making the trip with me. I was so glad that I went, so glad that he helped me have a “make up session” for me and Lucky’s anniversary. As we were pulling away, I turned to him and said, “I’m so relieved I didn’t fall apart” and he said, “You know, it would have been OK if you did.”

And I think I did know that . . . because I am continuing to realize that grief just is what it is. There are no rules and regulations for how you go through it. You just “ride the waves” when they come up and as long as you remember to keep breathing . . . you’ll do just fine until the next wave rolls in. I don’t know how many more big waves of grief are in my future, but I have no doubt there will be more.

For those of you who are grieving the loss of a pet, I hope you will remember to just ride the waves when they come. There isn’t a right or a wrong way to go through it . . . the important thing is that we just go through it, hopefully with as much compassion for ourselves as we can.