Dog Hair, Vet Flares, and Tangled Prayers: How a Routine Vet Trip Turned into a Lesson on Grief
There are days when grief sneaks up on you—not because of some monumental event, but through a series of seemingly insignificant moments that suddenly feel unbearable. Maybe it’s something as routine as taking a pet to the groomer or having to make a decision you weren’t prepared for. These ordinary tasks become overwhelming under the shadow of loss, making you feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulders.
When you’re grieving, everyday stressors are magnified, and the pain of old losses blurs with fears of new ones. Life doesn’t wait for you to process one sorrow before adding another weight to carry. Just when you think you’ve managed to stand again, life has a way of piling on more, making it feel like you’re carrying the same burdens all over again.
Navigating a Day of Sorrow and Uncertainty
What made today so difficult? It wasn’t one big event, but rather, a string of small challenges that carried more weight than I could handle. Taking Chloe, our dog, to the groomer seemed like a simple task, but it turned into an emotional ordeal when she needed a biopsy to determine if the fatty tissues growing on her were cancerous. The possibility of losing Chloe—one of my last tangible connections to my mom—stirred up fears and regrets.
I found myself questioning: “Did I miss any signs? Could I have acted faster or done more?” That raw fear of making the same mistakes I did with my mom loomed large. Charles Spurgeon’s words resonate here: “Griefs exalt us, and troubles lift us”, reminding me that while these fears are natural, they’re also meant to draw us closer to God and the comfort He provides
Embracing Imperfection and Finding God in the Process
The reality is, I did my best for my mom, just as I’m trying to do my best for Chloe now. But doing your best doesn’t guarantee a smooth road. It’s easy to be hard on yourself for not catching every detail or anticipating every need. With grief, there’s always a nagging voice that whispers: “If only you had done this…” But no one can navigate loss flawlessly.
Dallas Willard’s wisdom here is poignant: “Feelings are good servants, but they are disastrous masters.” We cannot let guilt or anxiety master our emotions, driving us to despair. The goal is not to control outcomes, but to show up faithfully and trust God with the results.
Grief’s Endless Cycle: When Life Keeps Adding More
Grieving my mom has felt like a marathon without a finish line. Just as I think I’ve caught my breath, something else appears to knock me down again. Life doesn’t pause because you’re grieving; bills, decisions, and estate processes all demand attention. It’s like being asked to sprint while carrying a heavy backpack—each new challenge feels like another stone added to the load.
Spurgeon captured this well: “Your sorrow itself shall be turned into joy… God not only takes away the bitterness and gives sweetness in its place, but turns the bitterness into sweetness itself.” Even in sorrow, there is a promise of transformation.
Finding Comfort in God’s Presence
In the chaos, God has been sending reminders that I’m not alone. Recently, one of my grief share coaches texted me Psalm 34, not knowing what I was going through. It was a timely reminder that God’s presence is with me, even in the overwhelming moments. Dallas Willard once remarked: “The ultimate freedom we have as human beings is the power to select what we will allow or require our minds to dwell upon.” Dwelling on God’s comfort doesn’t erase the pain, but it reshapes how I carry it.
Rediscovering My Mom’s Strength in New Places
The hardest part is knowing that the one person I would normally turn to—my mom—is no longer here. She was a fortress for me, always ready to listen, pray, and help me see the good in every situation. Now that she’s gone, I’m learning to lean on the people God has placed in my life to fill in the gaps. It’s not easy, but each friend or family member offers a small piece of what my mom used to be for me.
Spurgeon’s words offer comfort: “It is the burning lava of the soul that has a furnace within—a very volcano of grief and sorrow—it is that burning lava of prayer that finds its way to God.” This imagery reminds me that my grief is not meant to be suppressed; it is meant to be prayed through and transformed.
Learning to Set Boundaries and Ask for Help
I’m learning to tell people what kind of support I need—whether it’s just a listening ear, space to vent, or a gentle nudge to take care of myself. Boundaries aren’t about pushing people away; they’re about allowing the right people to come close in genuinely helpful ways. There’s no single person who can fill all the roles my mom played, but I’m grateful for those who show up in different ways.
When no one is available, journaling my prayers to God has become my lifeline. It’s a reminder that God is always listening, always present, even when I can’t see Him clearly. As Dallas Willard once said, “You can live opposite of what you profess, but you cannot live opposite of what you believe.” I believe that God is here, even when grief clouds my vision.
Grief has a way of complicating even the smallest tasks, turning routine moments into reminders of all that’s been lost. But as heavy as it feels, each moment is an opportunity to lean on God’s presence, to allow our hearts to find solace in His unwavering support. While it’s okay to feel overwhelmed, God’s promise to turn sorrow into joy is a reminder that He walks with us, not to erase the pain, but to transform it into something deeper and more meaningful.
Reflection Question:
How do you handle small setbacks when they trigger unexpected waves of sorrow and make moving forward feel overwhelming?
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