Holding Two Things at Once

This week, I have been holding two very different truths at the same time.

A little over a week ago, we made the incredibly difficult decision to put our dog, Bernie, down. It was one of those decisions that was made with love, but that does not make it feel any less heartbreaking.

Since then, I have been carrying the grief of that loss in ways both big and small. Sometimes it comes in a wave. Sometimes it is a quiet ache. Sometimes it is something someone says that catches me off guard, or a memory that makes me laugh before it brings tears to my eyes.

Grief has a way of doing that.

It does not always arrive in the way we expect, and it is not limited to the death of a person we love. Grief comes from goodbyes of all kinds. It can come from the loss of a pet, a diagnosis we were not expecting, the end of a friendship, a change in health, the loss of a job, or the quiet realization that life no longer looks the way it once did.

Grief comes in many shapes and sizes, and it can live alongside us in ways that are tender, surprising, and sometimes difficult to explain.

At the same time, I am also looking forward.

My husband and I are planning an incredible biking adventure in Norway. I am spending time with family over the Fourth of July, being outside, water skiing, and doing things that bring me joy and fill my heart.

And that has reminded me of something I know, but am learning again in real time: life rarely asks us to feel just one thing.

We can be heartbroken and grateful. We can be grieving and excited. We can miss what is gone while still being open to what is ahead. We can laugh, make plans, enjoy the people around us, and still carry sadness with us.

One does not cancel out the other.

For a long time, I think many of us believe we have to move through grief in a straight line. That we need to finish one feeling before we can make room for another. But real life is much more layered than that.

Our hearts are capable of holding more than one truth at a time.

And maybe part of living well is allowing ourselves to do just that. To honor what hurts without closing ourselves off from what is still beautiful. To make space for grief, while also making space for joy, connection, movement, laughter, and love.

This week, I am missing Bernie deeply.

And I am also trying to stay open to the goodness that is still here.

Both are true.

Both belong.