I once read that the grief that comes from losing a pet can be harder than when losing another family member who doesn't live with you. The emptiness, the change of routine, the silence. When I lost my Emma I kept expecting her to be there every time I opened my back door for a long time...and each time she wasn't my heart ached for her. When my youngest son moved out (and away) twenty-six years I cried each time I walked into his bedroom. Am I still "Mom?' (Hint: I am). I can't wait to read about this, Ilona!
It's a process and taking the time to adjust is a grace you should allow yourself. But being a caretaker seems to be embedded in me, and I wonder who I might have been if I hadn't taken on those roles. I guess I'll never know!
The title so resonated! Especially I think as women and mothers…how can we get back to who we are after all the caring is done. Looking forward to your series. In my time in Costa Rica during our hotel construction, I felt very empty. I really learned a lot about myself in the ‘quiet’.
This is perfect and perfectly timed for me to read. My pup is also sick, though currently in a good pocket of health and I have one left at home. I have been trying to understand who it is I am outside of caring for them and following their schedules and their lives. Thank you for this.
Loving your work, your thoughts, your insights and feeling the pain that you turn into wisdom. Thank you, as always, you motivate me even as I find peace in your words.
Finally had a moment to read this, and boy does it strike a chord! Can't wait to read more of your thoughts on this very relevant (expecially to me) subject!
I found this particular phrase deeply resonant: "a subtle sense that time was moving and I wasn't." It so perfectly captures that feeling of being stuck, doesn't it? It’s not an overt, dramatic crisis, but a quiet, unsettling awareness that life is passing you by. It’s like being on a treadmill set just a bit too fast; you’re running, but not actually going anywhere. It’s that dissonance, that feeling of inner stasis while the world outside marches on, that can be so incredibly frustrating. How do we shift from feeling like a passenger on a train to being the conductor of our own lives again?
Ilona, I know your topic is stuckness, but for me you spoke to my heart with Polly. See, I had a 24/7 companion for 9 years, the first time in a life of work that I actually got to be present with a canine beloved full-time. Out of the blue, on May first, she had a series of seizures. She had a rapidly progressing brain tumor, and two weeks later she was dead. Hearing grief mirrored by you - you can't know how helpful it is in the freshness of mine. Here are the words you created that say it all:
The house got quiet in a way I hadn't expected ....
Not just the quiet of grief, though that, too, but a silence that throws you off balance. The kind that makes you realize just how much of your rhythm had been shaped around someone else.
Every morning walk. Every trip to the kitchen. Every glance toward the door.
The pain of grief is more tolerable when it is shared with others. Thank you for your support. I know how hard it's been for you these last few months.
Yes, I have felt it when everything feels static and repetitive yet entirely wide open. With the questions unanswered and perhaps not even known to ask yet. The gap. I try to remember that the gap is where 'god' lives, and if I can breathe and trust, a new way appears.
My rescue Twinkle (and she did Twinkle) died from an autoimmune disease similar to mine, taking one of the same medications. Irony? Coincidence? Maybe, but we were in tune with each other and losing her forced me to face my mortality, another space that I am unfolding now. I look forward to your series.
Another beautiful essay, Ilona! I'm eager to read more about your journey.
Nine years ago, in a span of 2 months I had to put my beloved Scooter down & then both kids left for college. I think I'm still figuring out my place in life, but l always enjoy your thoughts.
That's what we call a double whammy, Kristy. You must have felt totally bereft. I think we all are in this space of figuring it out, and it doesn't confront us until there is nothing else, especially when our daily interactions with our fur baby companion or the kids are removed. Who are we without them? It also reminds of that phrase, "We come into this world alone, and we leave alone."
This was beautiful! So much to learn and experience when we're in the liminal space. Sending warm hugs for the loss of your life coach and bestest companion Polly.
I have felt that “in between” often and it seems part of my way of being as long as I can remember. I guess it has served as my motivation. Finding ways in which to unstick myself. It becomes even more prevalent during the quiet times as people, things, pets, jobs move through our lives.
I appreciate this subject and look forward to reading more of your thoughts.
I once read that the grief that comes from losing a pet can be harder than when losing another family member who doesn't live with you. The emptiness, the change of routine, the silence. When I lost my Emma I kept expecting her to be there every time I opened my back door for a long time...and each time she wasn't my heart ached for her. When my youngest son moved out (and away) twenty-six years I cried each time I walked into his bedroom. Am I still "Mom?' (Hint: I am). I can't wait to read about this, Ilona!
It's a process and taking the time to adjust is a grace you should allow yourself. But being a caretaker seems to be embedded in me, and I wonder who I might have been if I hadn't taken on those roles. I guess I'll never know!
The title so resonated! Especially I think as women and mothers…how can we get back to who we are after all the caring is done. Looking forward to your series. In my time in Costa Rica during our hotel construction, I felt very empty. I really learned a lot about myself in the ‘quiet’.
I like how you phrased that and can relate to feeling alone (although in cold polluted New Jersey). It is time to come home to ourselves.
This is perfect and perfectly timed for me to read. My pup is also sick, though currently in a good pocket of health and I have one left at home. I have been trying to understand who it is I am outside of caring for them and following their schedules and their lives. Thank you for this.
You are among many in this liminal space. Your beautiful writing is a gift and that may be your way through....
🙏🏾🙏🏾✨
Polly was da best! We'll never be able to replace her.
Loving your work, your thoughts, your insights and feeling the pain that you turn into wisdom. Thank you, as always, you motivate me even as I find peace in your words.
Finally had a moment to read this, and boy does it strike a chord! Can't wait to read more of your thoughts on this very relevant (expecially to me) subject!
Yay, you're back! (I assume you voted today.) I hope you had a great trip, and tomorrow you can read my next thought on this vital topic.
We voted before we left - can't take any chances!!
I found this particular phrase deeply resonant: "a subtle sense that time was moving and I wasn't." It so perfectly captures that feeling of being stuck, doesn't it? It’s not an overt, dramatic crisis, but a quiet, unsettling awareness that life is passing you by. It’s like being on a treadmill set just a bit too fast; you’re running, but not actually going anywhere. It’s that dissonance, that feeling of inner stasis while the world outside marches on, that can be so incredibly frustrating. How do we shift from feeling like a passenger on a train to being the conductor of our own lives again?
Stay tuned for next week, Dr. A! Thanks for your thoughtful comment.
Ilona, I know your topic is stuckness, but for me you spoke to my heart with Polly. See, I had a 24/7 companion for 9 years, the first time in a life of work that I actually got to be present with a canine beloved full-time. Out of the blue, on May first, she had a series of seizures. She had a rapidly progressing brain tumor, and two weeks later she was dead. Hearing grief mirrored by you - you can't know how helpful it is in the freshness of mine. Here are the words you created that say it all:
The house got quiet in a way I hadn't expected ....
Not just the quiet of grief, though that, too, but a silence that throws you off balance. The kind that makes you realize just how much of your rhythm had been shaped around someone else.
Every morning walk. Every trip to the kitchen. Every glance toward the door.
Ilona, as always, thank you.
The pain of grief is more tolerable when it is shared with others. Thank you for your support. I know how hard it's been for you these last few months.
Yes, I have felt it when everything feels static and repetitive yet entirely wide open. With the questions unanswered and perhaps not even known to ask yet. The gap. I try to remember that the gap is where 'god' lives, and if I can breathe and trust, a new way appears.
I look forward to the series, Ilona.
Your words remind me of that space between the inhale and the exhale, and the potential that lives there. You have a way with words, Paulette 🤍
Ilona, thank you so much. It's the lift I needed today.
My rescue Twinkle (and she did Twinkle) died from an autoimmune disease similar to mine, taking one of the same medications. Irony? Coincidence? Maybe, but we were in tune with each other and losing her forced me to face my mortality, another space that I am unfolding now. I look forward to your series.
Have you seen photos of dogs that look like their owners? I was always fascinated by that. I do believe dogs reflect our energy. RIP, dear Twinkle 💔
I have seen them. We didn’t look alike, but our energy was connected.
Ilona Goanos: Every post of yours shares a warm heart.
You are well loved!
Thank you, Armand. What a very kind thing to say.
Another beautiful essay, Ilona! I'm eager to read more about your journey.
Nine years ago, in a span of 2 months I had to put my beloved Scooter down & then both kids left for college. I think I'm still figuring out my place in life, but l always enjoy your thoughts.
That's what we call a double whammy, Kristy. You must have felt totally bereft. I think we all are in this space of figuring it out, and it doesn't confront us until there is nothing else, especially when our daily interactions with our fur baby companion or the kids are removed. Who are we without them? It also reminds of that phrase, "We come into this world alone, and we leave alone."
This was beautiful! So much to learn and experience when we're in the liminal space. Sending warm hugs for the loss of your life coach and bestest companion Polly.
She was the bestest! Thank you for your kind words, C&W.
I have felt that “in between” often and it seems part of my way of being as long as I can remember. I guess it has served as my motivation. Finding ways in which to unstick myself. It becomes even more prevalent during the quiet times as people, things, pets, jobs move through our lives.
I appreciate this subject and look forward to reading more of your thoughts.
Thanks, Michelle. I appreciate that you dwell in this space. I'm sure you have a lot to add to the conversation.
Perfect statement . I borrowed your statement today as it’s Marilyn’s birthday and I am definitely hitting the in between . 💔
Sending hugs, my friend.
Looking forward to what will unfold.
So grateful you’re here. The next piece is taking shape now — and I’m excited to keep unfolding this with you.