For 7 Minutes Tonight, I Couldn't Remember My Late Sister's Dog's Name
That's when grief snuck in and fought like hell to take over.
Next month marks the six year anniversary of my younger sister Beth’s sudden death.
Tonight, when I couldn’t sleep, I flipped through some old photos.
As I often do, I tried to think of Beth and all the good times we shared, all the inside jokes, the laughter, and the sisterly bond we knew.
And then, I remembered our dogs.
What was Beth’s dog’s name again?
Jesus Christ…why can’t I remember his name?
Our dogs, like so much of our lives, were identical. We were both cheerleaders…we went to the same college…we shared a cheeky sense of humor…we both lived in Evanston… we both went into helping professions…and we both had Black Labs from dog shelters. How on earth could something so basic and obvious as Beth’s dog’s name suddenly escape me?
The name started with a B. I’m sure of it. Ba…? Be…? My racing mind grows frantic with concern. What’s wrong with me? I’ve said that dog’s name ten million times.
I Google “Boys names that start with b”. Nothing looks familiar. Nothing. And yet, in this moment, I HAVE to remember. It feels VERY IMPORTANT to remember.
Not one of these B names looks right. Was it not a B name?
Grief, like a traumatic brain injury, hijacks our thoughts and our perspective and our ability to reason, as evidenced by my next belief: I’m a bad sister to forget such an obvious detail about my sister’s life. Her dog meant everything to her, so, if I forget details about my sister’s dog, I’m therefore forgetting my sister.
The downward spiral continues:
If I’m losing memories of her… it’s like I’m losing her all over again.
But then, I realize I can stop this madness.
I remind myself that forgetting a dog’s name is simply forgetting a dog’s name.
Full stop.
Yes, time marches on.
Yes, memories fade.
Yes, the sharpest, rawest edges of grief may have softened.
Yes, my memory sometimes stutters and falters, but my sister is still right here in my heart where she’s always been and always will be.
There. That’s better.
Grief is often a horrible, viscious monster, but tonight, thanks to mindful thinking, I give it a rest. You know why?
Because I just remembered something.
The dog’s name was Gibson!
Goodnight, grief.
For now, our ridiculous dance is over.
Those details can sometimes feel like a lifeline, if we let go, we sink. Or at least that’s how it feels. I’m glad you were able to mindfully sort through it all and steady with the truer lifeline of your undying love.
The loss is always there. The details, unfortunately, aren’t.
Gibson is a good name. Hard one to remember though!