"Stay busy. Change your routine." Those are common words of advice when people grieve. And maybe they work, sometimes. But I want to call bullshit on them. Because when you grieve for someone who was an integral part of your life, changes in your routine don't change your grief.
Sammy has been part of my life for 16 years. He had the head of his femur removed when he was a year old, due to bone disease. He had physical therapy (swimming, movement) and acupuncture for a few months before he could walk again. He went to see clients with me most days. He went to my office with me. We were pretty inseparable. He saw me through divorce and we were a team. He eased into a new relationship with me, kids, marriage, a new home. He saw me through Ds death. He traveled back and forth with me to Bs house for 5 years while we cared for him. He saw me through Loki's death and through Bs death. He saw me through 4.5 years of grad school. He was on his own medication regimen, every 8-12 hours, for the last 6 years of his life. My life, my routines, have changed SO much over the years. But the constant has been my routine with him--more constant than any routine I ever had with my husband, even.
After 16 years, this is a routine that is ingrained in my brain, my heart, every cell of my body. I have a new work schedule since he died. I have forced myself to be incredibly social for a week. I have allowed myself to be incredibly anti-social for a week. I have taken up new (or new-old!) hobbies. That's all a lot to pack in to a couple of weeks since his death. But what isn't fading yet is his pattern, superimposed upon my ever-changing life. I still wake and am careful not to move him. I still wander to the kitchen, and consider whether to get him up to go outside or let him sleep while I get ready for work. I still open the cabinet to get his medicine. I still worry about my schedule when I'm out, and getting home to give him medicine and check on him. I still consider needing someone to care for him as I plan a weekend away. The worst part is driving home from anywhere. I used to get really excited to come home. About 10 minutes from home I'd start feeling a physical sense of excitement to come in the door, gently touch Sam to wake him without startling him (since he was deaf and could no longer hear me come in), give and get puppy kisses, take him outside, then climb into the bed with him for a few minutes for our snuggles and time to unwind before I got back to work. I STILL experience this excitement every time I drive home. And then I experience this crazy-deep sadness and loneliness within a couple of seconds, as I realize that I'm not going home to that. And five minutes later, it might happen again--on the same drive home! I'm one of Pavlov's dogs (no pun intended!), and despite the fact that I'm being punished now rather than rewarded, it's taking a long time to retrain every fiber of my being.