Anyone who’s read my blog in the recent past likely knows that I’ve struggled greatly since my dog Sawyer died almost four years ago. I’m glad to say that the pain is almost gone, and the little bit that remains is nothing compared to what it was at its worst. Despite that, I still often feel guilty about feeling less grief over Sawyer’s death. Let’s explore that together in this post.
I’ve seen and heard so many messages about how grief is the price of love or a sign you still care about lost loved ones. I disagree with both of those and see them as intellectualizations that make the pain persist by keeping one focused on overthinking everything instead of releasing the painful emotions. Still, I find myself wishing that I thought about Sawyer (and dreamed about him) as much as I did when the pain of his death was so overwhelming that I often didn’t know if I’d survive it. That seems to be part of the sentiment behind this beautiful song, along with concern that getting over a lost loved one would also mean getting over the love that was shared.
There is also some fear that I’ll forget about Sawyer or start to forget important details about him if I keep getting over his death. C. S. Lewis expressed similar concern after his wife’s death in A Grief Observed. He mentioned his concern over the possibility of remembering an inaccurate version of his wife rather than who she actually was since she was no longer around to instantly set the record straight. I wonder if that’s why I’ve developed certain routines after Sawyer died, which includes looking at some pictures and videos of him every day. Either way, I’m glad that those routines have kept him on my mind, made me recall so many of our wonderful times together, and reminded me how he looked and sounded and acted.
No matter where they appear in my life, guilt and shame remain some of the most difficult emotions for me to release. I suspect that part of the trouble I have releasing them in this situation comes from how little I did to stand up for Sawyer and possibly get him more time toward the end of his life. Since his death, I’ve seen several stories of dogs who seemed to be near the end of their lives and then made miraculous recoveries; in some cases, they got several more years with their families. I’ll never know if that would have happened with Sawyer. I still wish I had advocated much more strongly for him. If that had gotten us any additional time together, even just a few more days, it would have been worth it. Even more worth it if it meant he’d still be with me today.
I still desperately wish Sawyer were alive on Earth, and I don’t know if that will ever change. I feel no guilt about missing him, even with all the folks who’ve told me over the past few years to not feel bad and do something to distract me from my emotions. However, I know that it will take a lot more work to release the guilt and shame I feel around feeling less pain over Sawyer’s death. The same goes for the guilt and shame I feel over some things I did with him and many things I didn’t do with him, especially doing little to stand up for him toward the end of his life. Sometimes just remembering how badly I failed him is enough to push me through fear, discomfort, and other limitations so that I can do something rather than do nothing and regret it later. Since this all still weighs heavily on me and since one of my goals for 2026 is to make peace my normal state, I plan to continue working through this pain this year until it’s gone and I can finally have peace around healing from the loss of my best friend ever.