One whole year. It feels like both forever and just a blink of an eye. The anniversary (or angelversary like we often say) of a year after pet loss can stir up a lot of emotions, some that had not gone far and others that had faded a bit.
Like me, you may have been anxiously anticipating the date coming, bracing yourself. Or maybe it snuck up on you, catching you off guard with a wave of grief you thought had softened. Either way, a year anniversary can be a mix of sorrow, love, and even hope.
To some, “a year” may sound like a turning point, where grief has had its time and now it automatically changes. But grief isn’t measured in days, months, or even years. It’s measured in heartbeats, memories, and love that remains. Grief doesn’t abide by a calendar or milestones, and one year isn’t a finish line.
Though I’ve grieved before, as this version of me, the one reflecting back on a year since saying goodbye to my dog Ace (pictured 😋), I’ve come to see four things about this time, especially clearly.
The Sadness Lingers
Grieving someone who has been so significant in your life is heart wrenching. Sadness becomes your companion. Though it can be very unfamiliar to be some level of sad — from melancholy to despair — for a prolonged period of time.
You might even wonder if something is wrong with you or if you’re not healing fast enough. But grief is sad. And since we’ll always love and always grieve, it’s fair to acknowledge some level of sadness will always be present. Like a healing injury, there will be days it hurts as much as the first, and there will be days it’s managed well. You might even forget it’s there.
People tend to subscribe to a “sad is bad” connotation. Perhaps it’s possible to rethink that within grief. Sad is understandable. Sad doesn’t have to be debilitating. Sad can be a reverence for loss but does not have to define your days.
The Earth Still Spins
Your world comes to a halt on day one of grief. But, alas, the earth is still spinning. As time goes by, the distance between heartbreak and the rest of life grows. People check in less. There’s still uncomfortability where routines used to be. The pain of grief remains sharp, but no one sees it. Some days can feel very isolated.
In retrospect, life’s obligations while grieving are tough to manage, but actually help the natural rhythm of grieve-and-live, live-and-grieve. Simply put, life still happening helps you slowly (sometimes not so slowly) re-engage. It’s evidence of resilience and strength you might not have thought possible.
Others may think “time heals all wounds”, but time rudely shows you otherwise. That old adage doesn’t always apply. Instead time blurs the line between just yesterday and an eternity ago; between honoring your love and healing your heart.
Regardless of any measure of time passing, grief deserves patience. There’s no flashy finish line.
Grief Changes, Connection Evolves
Grief changing is a natural part of the journey. Sometimes met with resistance because it can feel like pain is proof of devotion. Grief can feel like a place to show love. But it can also lead to a new and meaningful understanding of love, loss, and life.
What begins as an unbearable absence can shift into comforting, quiet moments when your heart feels full. I think the only guarantee in grief is that no feeling stays the same forever. You might not see the changes or even feel them, but there is a shift. You learn how to carry loss with loving arms.
In these subtle shifts, new and different connections with your pet grow. You find special ways to remember them in your home. There are meaningful rituals that become routine. You may even be open to receiving signs.
Loss can feel like an abrupt separation, but your connection doesn’t just disappear. It transforms. When grief waves become not as frequent, a bridge to closeness starts to take shape. That bridge can be crucial to knowing it’s ok to live a full life again. You do it for them and with them.
Love Lingers The Most
Grief can’t take love. At first it’s hard to know where to put all the love that remains. And maybe that is one of the most painful parts — when the love is still pouring out but there’s no one there to receive or reciprocate. It’s kind of like jumping onto an inflatable, expecting it to hold you, only to hit the ground because all the air is gone. It’s a hard fall into grief.
Over time, though, some of that love finds new, soft places to land. A treasured memory that makes you smile, a new honoring activity, having places where you can freely talk about your pet, say their name, and share stories. Love doesn’t go anywhere. It just begins to stretch to new places, settle in, and reshape itself.
Though time doesn’t heal all, it can prove something. That no matter how many pages on a calendar turn, each one is filled with love. Love is the constant. How it outwardly looks and inwardly feels is something only you will have the answers to.
The journey beyond the first year after pet loss is about living with grief, not getting over it. It’s beginning to see how life grows around grief, but it’ll always be there. Held by love.
You know what no one really talks about at the one-year mark? That there’s a year two. And three, and four. And that as life inevitably carries on, it becomes more apparent that you’ve survived some of the hardest parts. Now, every single thing you are cultivating in grief and in love, is not ever going anywhere. It’s yours forever.
