Navigating Grief - from people to pets

We’ve all heard the phrase, “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” Sometimes, if you’re like me, you might wonder, “Is that saying really true?”

Grief and loss are some of the deepest valleys we can walk through in life, and yet they have a profound way of revealing just how much love we have experienced. I want to share my own journey through the losses that have shaped me, in hopes that it may encourage you to reflect on the love and faithfulness God continues to show us, even in our hardest moments.

The First Loss: Jake

Aside from the loss of my great-grandmother, the first significant loss I experienced was my husband in 2009. I was in such a fragile physical state at the time of his passing that my doctors didn’t want me to know right away. For weeks, I was kept in the dark about what had happened. They feared how the news might affect my recovery, so much so that I wasn’t able to attend any of the services—no funeral, no graveside, no shared moments of mourning with family and friends.

During my time in the hospital, the staff was so concerned about my emotional state that they wouldn’t allow Jake’s parents to visit me. They feared that I might realize Jake hadn’t been there and start questioning things they weren’t ready to address. While I was still in Georgia, before I fully understood my circumstances, one particular gentleman would talk with me regularly. He was worried about what I might know. I remember telling him that Jake hadn’t visited because he couldn’t bear to see me in my condition.

On another occasion, when he asked about the accident, I told him I had been riding a motorcycle with a guy we both knew—someone I had never ridden with before—on a road I had never traveled. It wasn’t until I later learned of Jake’s passing that one of the physicians suggested that, deep down, my subconscious had known what happened. My mind didn’t want to place my husband as the driver of the motorcycle, protecting me from the full weight of that truth at the time.

During that time, when I say I was "talking," I mean I had to use an alphabet board to communicate. My voice was gone due to having a trach, and I had no choice but to point at each letter to spell out my words. This was no easy task—it was incredibly laborious. My muscle control was limited, and sometimes it took several attempts just to point to a single letter. Despite this, I was fortunate to be conversing with a familiar doctor who had been through this process with me many times before. He often finished my sentences or questions, understanding what I was trying to say even before I could complete it.

Visitors who came to see me couldn’t even wear funeral clothes. The doctors wanted everything to appear normal. In my fog of recovery, I didn’t even know I had lost him. When I finally found out the truth, it was one-two months later. I visited his grave for the first time on my Christmas break from Georgia's Shepherd Center.

Dec 2009, my first visit to the grave

When back home, in 2010, I watched a video of the funeral and the graveside service. Seeing those moments helped me feel a connection to what I had missed. I decided that on the one-year anniversary of Jake’s passing, I would hold a small family gathering at his grave—a personal memorial to mark the loss I hadn’t been able to process fully before. I chose two songs I knew he would have loved and asked for a few words to be spoken. It was a simple, beautiful moment of closure for me.

During this time, I also sought grief counseling. My outpatient therapy center offered free sessions, and I knew I needed help to process everything. I had asked God for a female counselor, but when I arrived, I was met by a man. At first, I was hesitant, but as he began to share his story—how he had lost his spouse in a car accident he had been driving in—I knew without a doubt that God had chosen him for me. His understanding of survival guilt and grief mirrored my own in ways I hadn’t expected. God had provided exactly what I needed, even when it didn’t look like what I’d imagined.

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord” (Isaiah 55:8). God’s perfect understanding guided me through that season, showing me that He knows what is best, even when I think I do.

The Loss of My Dogs

Rebel, 2012

After losing Jake, I experienced the grief of losing my two dogs, Rebel and Gunner—dogs that Jake and I had chosen together to be part of our family. These two weren’t just pets. They were a living, breathing connection to Jake and the life we had once shared. We had walked together with them, played with them, and loved them as part of our family.

When they passed, I felt the pain of Jake’s loss all over again. Grief has a way of reopening old wounds, and losing them felt like yet another chapter of my life with Jake was closing. But in the midst of that sorrow, I had to remind myself that they had lived full, happy lives. They had given me comfort and companionship when I needed it most, and it was time for me to let them go.

Gunner, 2011

In their passing, I was reminded of the temporary nature of life. As Ecclesiastes 3:1 reminds us, “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” Their lives, like all lives, had a time and a purpose. Letting them go was part of accepting the seasons of life that God leads us through.

The Loss of My Papaw

In 2014, I faced another heartbreaking loss—the passing of my Papaw. My grandparents had always been a cornerstone of my life, and Papaw had a special place in my heart. He was a man of love, laughter, and wisdom. His presence was a constant source of comfort, and I cherished the small moments we shared—drinking coffee, eating lemon pie, and just sitting together in conversation. He would pull me close, give me a hug, and call me his "baby doll," a term of endearment that still makes my heart ache with longing.

When he passed, it felt like a piece of my foundation was gone. I missed his voice, his hugs, and the gentle love he always showed. Yet, I hold onto the memories we created, the wisdom he passed on, and the love he gave me so freely. “Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4). In my grief, I found comfort in the legacy he left behind—the laughter, the lessons, and the assurance that he loved me.

My Mamaw & Papaw

The Loss of My Mamaw

Just a few months ago, in 2024, I lost my Mamaw. To say she was an amazing woman doesn’t even begin to capture who she was. She was strong, loving, and deeply rooted in her faith. Losing her felt like the final chapter of a beautiful, God-centered life, and yet, it reopened that familiar ache of grief.

I often wonder if I did enough—did I visit her enough, hug her enough, tell her I loved her enough? It’s a question we all ask when someone we love passes. But I hold onto the hope that she knew—she knew just how much she meant to me, even if I didn’t say it enough.

In moments of doubt, I find comfort in 1 Thessalonians 4:13-14, “But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him.” I have hope in knowing that she is with the Lord, and that one day we will be reunited.

A Heart for Those Affected by Hurricane Helene

As I reflect on my own journey through grief, I can’t help but think of those who are currently facing unimaginable loss in my WNC area due to Hurricane Helene. The devastation of losing homes, livelihoods, and, for some, loved ones, brings its own unique pain. While our experiences of loss may be different, the grief we share is a common thread that binds us all.

For those facing the aftermath of disaster, I offer these words from Psalm 46:1: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” Though it may feel like the world is crumbling around you, God’s strength is unwavering. He is our refuge in the storm and our anchor when everything feels uncertain.

Let us lift up those affected by these disasters in prayer, trusting that God, in His mercy, will provide peace, healing, and restoration in the days to come.

“The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit” (Psalm 34:18).

Grief has a way of showing up at the most inconvenient times. The process isn't linear, like a series of steps you check off and move past. It's circular. You find yourself revisiting parts of it unexpectedly. Over time, though, I’ve come to understand that our tears speak a language God knows intimately. Even when we don’t fully grasp why we’re crying or how to put our pain into words, He understands. The Bible says weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. Seasons of hardship and grief don’t last forever. We can hold onto the hope that even the darkest nights give way to new mornings of joy.

Reflections on Love and Loss

As I reflect on the losses I’ve experienced—the loss of Jake, Rebel and Gunner, my Papaw, and my Mamaw—I’ve come to realize something important: the pain of loss is a reflection of the depth of love we’ve experienced. Grief, as difficult as it is, shows us just how much love we’ve had in our lives. Each person and pet I’ve loved has left a permanent mark on my heart, and even though they are no longer with me physically, their love continues to live in me.

There are moments when the weight of grief feels overwhelming, but I am reminded that God is always with us, walking through every valley. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me” (Psalm 23:4). God’s love is our comfort, and His presence is our peace.

If there is anything I have learned through these experiences, it’s that love, even when it brings loss, is always worth it. The love we share with others leaves a lasting legacy, one that time and even death cannot erase. In grief, we can find moments of peace—peace in the memories, peace in knowing we loved them well, and peace in trusting that God’s love surrounds us, even in our hardest moments.

“For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us” (Romans 8:18). Our grief may feel heavy now, but there is a greater glory to come—a glory that will make every tear, every heartache, and every loss worth it. 

Share how you cope.

Be encouraged. 🧡