This morning I received some news that I’d been waiting for for a while: my mother has decided it’s time to put our dog down.
Over the years, I’ve spent quite a bit of time thinking about what this day would be like, as a result of both intentional refection and intrusive thoughts. I always imagined that upon hearing the news I would be pierced by grief, or bowed low under the weight of the sorrow, or punch a hole through my bedroom wall, or maybe just curl up and cry.
But as a matter of fact, I didn’t feel a whole lot of anything in the way of sadness, per se. Distress, certainly, as well as nausea and a vague whooshing feeling in my upper body. But an authentic feeling of sorrow was conspicuously absent. So I sat down and tried to puzzle out just why that was.
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