Brutus, my pug, had his own stocking, green with a white puffy cuff. I had decorated it myself with glue and glitter when he was little--- when both sets of legs fit over my hand, and his little plump puppy belly fit the palm of my hand perfectly.

Over our sixteen Christmases together glitter had fallen off, the white cuff wasn't quite as pristine, but that stocking was infused with the joy of every Christmas I'd had with him, and every year of love we'd shared. But with the gift of love comes the pain of loss.

Ater he died, my grieving process was surprisingly “easy” compared to what I imagined I'd feel. I believed that was because I'd spent six months doing what I now call “pre-grieving” where I considered every single day his quality of life, monitored his symptoms, his cognitive and physical deterioration. So when the time came to assist his death I gave him what I hope he felt was a wonderful last day and a beautiful death.

Yes, I cried at the time, and sometimes I'd come home from work and feel a punch in the chest when he wasn’t there waiting for me, but mostly I had moved past the grief to the sweet place of remembering him with a smile and just a tear or two. So, I wasn’t expecting what came next.

A few days after Thanksgiving I was ready to do all the Christmas stuff. Tree. Lights on the patio. Pine-scented candles. Cute little reindeer juice glasses. The stuffed snowman and reindeer I always put on the mantel. All the stuff. I pulled out the Christmas bins to sort through and figure out what I wanted where. I dug out the tree skirt to give it a shake and there it was. Brutus’ stocking.

The seconds and minutes that followed were the most painful I'd ever experienced. My heart squeezed tightly and I couldn’t swallow over the lump in my throat. My tears blurred my vision, but I clutched the matted cuff, no longer fluffy and white. I felt the smooth material with dried glue and patches of glitter. I brought it to my face and inhaled and was catapulted back to a time when he was a puppy trying to drag the stocking stuffed with puppy presents across the room. And that's when my heart broke over the loss of my boy, Brutus.

Grief is a profoundly personal experience. No two people experience grief the same; even those within the same household will grieve differently. And that is okay. How you grieve is yours. You get to experience your process your way, and it's okay if you don't “know how” to do it. It isn’t something we can plan out and navigate through with a check list. Cried? ✔ Packed away his toys? ✔ Told best friend you're sad? ✔

THAT ISN'T HOW IT HAPPENS .

The emotions you feel when your pet has died will likely be sadness, shock, sadness again, a paralyzing feeling of loss, a bitter sweet twinge over a favorite memory, sadness, anger, mental fog when you can't make sense of what you're feeling, anger, guilt and on and on. Now put all of those in your hand and cast them like dice-— that's what your day may be tomorrow. That's what grief can feel like. Sounds like the makings of a really hideous holiday season, doesn’t it. Add to that the fact that some people in your life will likely not understand the depth of your grief. It's just a dog. It's just a cat. In the anger part of my grief, those are fighting words and I will admit I'd have difficulty not lashing out.

SO, how can you honor your grief and your process during the holidays?

• Identify your person. Identify the person in your life that understands what the loss of your pet means to you and ask them to be your go to.

• Identify potential triggers. Are there pets where you'll be going— is that something you're comfortable with? Are you in the frame of mind to be able to deal with family dynamics? If not, are you able to bow out?

• COMPROMISE There may be situatiations that you cannot gracefully decline, but perhaps you can make things easier for yourself.

  CONSIDER: ordering presents online if shopping seems overwhelming.

  ALSO: order in food instead of cooking.

  PRO TIP: take your own car so you can leave if you need to.

Make self care a priority.

• Get plenty of rest.

• Eat well.

• Take time away from the chaos if need be.

• Honor your feelings. Don’t let anyone invalidate your emotions.

• Set boundaries. Let people know in advance if you don’t want to talk about your pet. Often people with even the best intentions say what doesn’t feel good to hear. He's in a better place now. Or he isn’t suffering now. I like to say, “I appreciate that. I’d rather not talk about him right now.” It's a good idea to come up with a few standard replies to make disengaging easier for you.

The loss of a pet is difficult and the grieving process is unpredictable, often isolating and can feel like a solitary endeavor to not feel what we actually MUST feel if we are to heal. It's tempting to push our feelings aside because of work, or family obligations or because we're afraid people won’t understand why we feel the way we do. I encourage you to feel what you feel. I truly believe it is the only way to heal and move forward to the time when thinking of your pet no longer hurts, but rather warms your heart.