Grief is always with us
Tobi: Jan 2011 to August 2025
In my friend group, death has been in the air lately. Various parents, dogs, siblings, children passing from our lives. Sometimes suddenly, sometimes slowly, sometimes with a sense of relief.
In the grand scheme of life, the passing of our little dachshund Tobi seems relatively small. But there is no small grief. Grief does not travel alone. As we age, our ball of grief grows, each passing of a loved one adding bits. Some of those bits are spikier, some more rounded - all lodge in our bodies with a choking sensation.
Tobi was a dog that I did not expect to love. He belonged to my mother in law, and we inherited him when she passed in 2021. But once he was in our care, we quickly learned that he was intelligent, curious, clever, relentless, and funny. It took him a few months to settle in - months that included him moving first from San Antonio, Texas to Jackson, Mississippi, and then to Ogden, Utah.
Tobi had a love-hate relationship with his life here in Ogden. He hated (and hate is a mild word for what he felt) the cold and snow. On the other hand, he loved the new smells of the deer and other wildlife. As a heat seeking creature, the hot summer sun was a balm to his soul, and in the winter, he loved sleeping on the heating pad under a few blankets.
He was also a hardened and unrepentant criminal. He had a fierce drive for the best food - known to steal sandwiches bigger than he was, make his way to the dining room table to eat sticks of butter, and demolish any trash can left vulnerable.
The beat of his own drummer was loud in his ears - he didn’t really care much about what we wanted. But once he decided that we were his people, he wanted nothing more than to be with us. Not on laps, not picked up - but under a blanket by the desk, on the couch to watch TV, underfoot when someone was in the kitchen. He was a constant quiet presence.
He, like my mother in law, had a heart valve problem, and like her grew increasingly deaf as he aged. By the time he passed, he could no longer see. But the lack of hearing and vision slowed him only slightly - he still loved to explore the yard a few times a day. His last days he spent with us on a camping trip. He loved the new smells, and had a tendency to try to wander off to explore. We took him hiking - riding in a backpack, his nose out the side to catch the smells.
Like my mother in law, his heart valve issue caught up with him, and he began to have difficulty breathing. Despite the best efforts of the vet, we decided to let him go on Thursday morning. He’s now enjoying the warmth of the sun somewhere that we cannot go, at least not yet.
Dogs give us their whole hearts, and when they pass our grief is unalloyed - no feelings of regret for things said or unsaid. And so that lump of grief that I carry, that we all carry, has a new piece. This one feels particularly spiky and sharp.