This week, I returned to work without the one and only officemate I’ve had by my side since I started working from home full-time at 27 years old.
How strange, at 43, to feel completely unmoored.
How unfamiliar it is to emerge from bed in the morning without pausing to pet and kiss the pup who slept by my side every night for 16 years. How heartbreaking that I’ll never again witness his comically dramatic sneezes, or hear his nails tapping on the pine floors.
And oh, the panic that rises within me when I see his hair-covered bed no longer occupied by the slowly breathing body that gave our little home such a strong pulse.
How conflicting it feels to be filled with such profound gratitude and crushing sadness all at once.
It became clear one week before he passed that our Stanlee was fading. The day I noticed the steeper decline was the same day that a centuries-old live oak slowly broke apart and thundered to the ground mere inches from our home. In the early moments of that morning, when the sky was still inky and the family was in bed, my husband and I weren’t sure whether or not the house would be crushed by the enormous falling tree. In an unspoken agreement, I rushed to get the kids from their beds and out of the house while Adam took charge of getting the dogs outside. I will always remember seeing Adam emerge through the front door with our ailing Stanlee in his arms and Sophee at his heels as the tree sank in the dark behind them. Adam and I both knew that our senior dog didn’t have much more time with us, but that every remaining moment of his was worth protecting. I’m sure many people would find it foolish to spend vital time extracting an ill dog from the house when the building was in such peril. Reckless. Maybe even idiotic. But in our minds, there was simply no other option.
I’ve lost loved ones before. But this loss feels very different, both in my body and in our home. For sixteen years, Stanlee and I moved in tandem with each other throughout my workdays and my personal time. And, since I adopted him two years before meeting Adam, Stanlee was the first member of my chosen family — the first being around whom I mapped my world. Now I’m orbiting around a point that has dissolved in his absence.
While processing my feelings, physical mementoes have been helpful tools for anchoring myself in moments of disorientation. Thankfully, there are always creative ways to make space for such items, whether in their original form, or cleverly reimagined into something else entirely. A bowl added to a plate wall. A blanket crafted into a small scarf or two. Strands of hair encapsulated within jewelry. Or a collar simply perched atop a stack of books.
For now, Stanlee’s bed will stay where it’s been since we moved in, despite the bulk. I’d rather step over and around it than let it go before I’m ready, if I’ll ever be…
Because even though we are now a household of five, we will forever be a family of six.
Things that have brought me joy during a challenging week:
The release of
’s latest book, What If We Get It Right?The unexpected box of Dr. Bronner’s Castile soap refills and bars sent to us by mistake, which the company kindly let us donate to a local non-profit’s Free Shelf.
A monthly, community-wide reading festival, co-championed by Lauren Groff’s independent bookstore, The Lynx. This month’s featured book and events are centered around climate action.
The 44th birthday of an immensely loved Farmhouse co-steward, and the slew of delightful, photo-laden group texts the occasion inspired.
My 7 y-o requesting a secondhand set of Legos as his present for his upcoming birthday.
Slow and quiet chores, like draping the clean laundry — including Stanlee’s blanket — on our old wooden rack.
Piecing together a secondhand Sesame Street puzzle with my 3 y-o.
Finding glass containers to store extra house paint so we can recycle the original, clunky cans.
A mason jar sleeve featuring Stanlee’s face, given to us as a gift years ago by a small business in our old town of Venice Beach:
Your sweet StanLee gave all of us so much love over the years and I’m so honored to have been able to follow along on his beautiful journey. Thank you so much for sharing his incredible life and the fun moments he was able to experience. He made our family smile every time we saw him in your reels, photographs and stories. Hugs Whitney! We’re all thinking of you xoxo Kristy (and Jeff & Emma)
I’m so sorry. We said goodbye to our pup earlier this year after 9 years together (we adopted him when he was an adult), and I still get the sharp pang of grief most days. His collar is around a candle we already had on our mantle. It took a while before we gently rid our home of his beds, his shampoo, his food, his last toy that had been with him for over five of his nine years with us.
My toddler still takes her small dog stuffie, named “buddy” after the nickname we had for our dog, and places him where his bed used to be in the kitchen, and tells us he’s “chatting with Pluto in his bed.” It makes me sob, and also makes me certain he’s still right there where he spent about 23 hours a day for the last year or so of his life.
It’s so, so hard. My first few weeks working from home alone, without him, were harder than almost any other time in my life. Wishing you all peace, sleep, and calm during this time.