My past has some pieces I’ve put away. I don’t have dark hair and bangs any more. I no longer sew clothes, work on math equations, go camping, or ride road bikes. I don’t still sell cupcakes, raft rivers, teach cookie camps, or run races. I’m not currently teaching school or living in New York or working on my Spanish or designing scrapbook supplies. And all of that feels fine right now, sincerely. Like I can be proud of who I was and move toward a future I also appreciate.
But one part of my past still trips me up. It’s definitely not put away. Just silent.
5 years ago this week, I said good-bye to my sweet dog, Scout. I honestly cannot even write those words without getting teary. And, truthfully, I’ve avoided writing about my dogs in this space because I’m still having trouble adjusting to an identity without them.
Scout was the last of three Wire Fox Terriers that, over a space of 23 years, I loved and adored.
She was adopted after my first dog, Sydney, passed away and before my third dog, Olly, was rescued. She was my best little friend. And I miss her. Every. Single. Day.
For over 3 years now, I’ve talked about so many aspects of my life here in this space – what I’ve done, where I’ve been, the things I’ve let go of and the things I’ve grown into. Over 150 posts worth. But Scout? I’ve left her in the quiet. I think, in some ways, I didn’t want to write about her – or Syd or Olly – because it would make them feel further away. Like putting them into words would set something in stone that I wasn’t ready to set.
Mary C. Lamia, Ph D, says “We now have some contrary evidence challenging the assumption that to achieve a successful and healthy recovery, grief-stricken individuals must talk about their grief. Recent work on loss and bereavement has found that unspoken memory – the withholding of autobiographical memories about loss and the departed loved one – can preserve an existing identity, and not sharing can give us a sense of purpose in the face of grief. This suggests that we should not view silence in response to loss as a form of denial. Unspoken memories can be sources of stability, growth, or resistance in response to the demand for change that loss imposes on us.”
Unspoken memories can be sources of stability, growth, or resistance in response to the demand for change that loss imposes on us.
It seems that some things, especially the ones we love the most, stay in the quiet – not because they don’t matter, but because they do. They really, really do.
Scout was a runner-away-er. A pillow-sleeper. A ball-fetcher. A head-tilter. A cheese-seekeer. A car window-opener. A peanut-butter-eater. A treat-finder. A right-by-the-screen-door-looker. A dad-and-Darren-lover.
And she was mine.
Maybe silence isn’t just avoidance. Maybe it’s one way we hold on.
But five years later, I think I’m finally ready to let my dogs – and sweet Scouty Scout – take up space in my story and come out of the quiet.
Maybe you have something you’ve been holding in silence, too. I can’t wait to hear about it when you’re ready. If you need someone to listen, I’m your gal.
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Photo taken by Hilary Spillane
