Email

Email is both wonderful and frightening. I love receiving emails from friends and relatives. I enjoy the stories, the funny jokes, the interesting take on life, and the simple ease of sharing our experiences.
But recently opening my email box has become a source of trepidation. While waiting to hear the status of a friend undergoing treatment for cancer, I opened my email box expecting to read a dire update.
Instead of that update there was an e-mail from my cousin's daughter telling me that her mother had died the day before. Last I heard from my favorite childhood cousin, the one who was just a little bad and a lot of fun, she'd sent me a photo proudly showing off her reduced Weight Watcher's body. That was August 26th, and I was so busy, I didn't really notice I hadn't heard from her again. Then the email from her daughter telling me and so many others who loved my cousin, that Annie, who had been diagnosed with cancer 2-1/2 weeks ago was now dead. She was 62.
Then the news our friend -- the email I was waiting for -- was now on palliative care. I knew what that meant. Palliative care is when the doctors know there is no hope and a person is treated only with medication to keep them comfortable. He was diagnosed 2-1/2 months ago.
Today came the news that our friend had suffered multiple strokes and was now at home, surrounded by his wife, children, and other family members. And so, again, each time I open my email box, I feel some fear. I am waiting for the news I dread yet know will come. He, too, is young.
They both looked to be the picture of health with smiles that could light up a city. One is already gone and the other almost there.
It's no longer my parent's generation that is dying. It is mine.

Grief -- Unfortunately it's for everyone

My dog, Sophie, died suddenly four weeks ago. She was a beautiful Golden Retirever and only 9 years old. This is the second Golden I've lost with very little warning (and I'm talking a few hours or less when I say little).
I was suddenly thrown into the "land of grief," and had to deal with the myriad of painful feelings traversing that ragged terrain entails.
I've been a grief counselor for 25 years and had my first significant loss when I was only 12 years old, so I'm no stranger to loss. Nevertheless, I never like grieving and, despite people believing that as a grief professional, my grief would be less painful than anyone else's, this is far from the truth. For you see, the experience of grief, both mine and yours, has only served to make me more human, more passionate, and more aware of my feelings and yours.
So the grief professional grieves. No more and no less than you.
While the loss of my beautiful Sophie has none of the complexities the loss of my father, stepson, friends, or mother encompassed, on the level of pure pain, you bet I got to feel it.
Every time we love and lose the one we love, whether in human or tail form, we feel the pain of loss.
I miss Sophie's greeting with a tail wag, a willingness to always get up to say hello, her happiness to see me, and her gentle soothing soul.
I miss this wonderful treasure who loved me just as I am and probably thought more of me than I deserved.