Diary to Derrick's Dog

Entry One - September 7

Dear Daisy, 

I once read in a book somewhere that if an owner outlives their dog, it’s important to allow the dog to see and smell the corpse. Animals understand death, and this way, they have an opportunity to know they have not been abandoned by their best friend. You’re the most loyal dog in the world, Daisy. I would never, ever want you to feel abandoned, but this does put me in a predicament. I don’t know when I’ll be able to look at that body again. As much as it would bring peace and solace to you, it would do the opposite to me.  

Derrick was your best friend, your companion, your person for what you thought would be the rest of your life. Me, too. We were his two favorite girls, his goofy black labradoodle and his socially anxious, slightly awkward, but somehow adorable girlfriend. I may not have been a dog person prior to meeting you, but now, you’re my one piece of hope and happiness glimmering in this dark cloud of grief. I’m afraid of losing control, struggling to cope, giving up. That’s one of two reasons why I started this diary, and I decided to address it to you, my rock, the one part of my day that has remained constant amidst the chaos.  

Here’s the second, perhaps more serious, reason: I’m terrified of losing myself to unhealthy coping mechanisms right now. I sometimes struggle with alcohol abuse, as did Derrick, and yesterday, that crutch cost him his life. When the empty bottle of vodka fell to the floor when I stumbled into the dresser this morning, the shards of glass scattered all over the carpet were an accurate representation of how I felt on the inside: broken, shattered, too scattered to be put back together. I’ve never been good with loss, or with grief, or with my feelings. In college, I majored in engineering so I could avoid those classes. I wanted facts and logic, not feelings and fluff. I’m going to push myself to spend this first month of grieving completely sober, leaning into those feelings, and I’m grateful to you, Daisy, for providing me with a reason to get out of bed, a daily routine, and someone to write for, even if you are a labradoodle who will never read this, anyway. 

Be back soon, 

Chelsea 

Entry Two - September 12

Dear Daisy, 

I’ve spent a lot of time with Derrick’s family (and my own) recently. I only took two days off because I can’t use too much sick leave and I still have to pay rent and other bills, not to mention I’m an engineer for the city of San Diego, and there is work that needs to be done. Crazy, isn’t it? Derrick dies, tragically, unexpectedly, not even thirty years old, yet life still marches forward. I don’t know how that makes me feel. Thankfully, both of our parents have stepped in big time to help with the celebration of life plans. I’m lucky to have a healthy support system, especially now. I even opened up to them all today about my decision to stay sober this month. While everyone is supportive, I’m not sure they understand why it’s necessary for me. My drinking, even at its’ worst, was never a big enough problem to warrant rehab. 

Alcoholism doesn’t run in my family. Again, lucky me. My sister, Chloe and I grew up around entirely normal, positive interactions with alcohol. We saw it as a celebratory beverage, something shared with friends, a socially acceptable substance on special occasions. Once we were in our later years of high school and beyond, we were allowed to participate in the fun family traditions like Christmas morning mimosas and champagne toasts on New Year’s Eve, provided we weren’t driving anywhere. It was a ‘coming of age’ thing in our house, a ‘European’ approach to alcohol. Our parents were worried that restricting our access to alcohol until we were the legal age of 21 would cause us to dangerously binge on it, or sneak around behind their backs to access it. Not that they had anything to worry about; both of us were academically focused and busy with sports on the weekends, almost every season of the year. A schedule like that left no room for frivolous partying; besides, I was focused on getting into college. That’s when the real fun would begin.  

Bye for now, 

Chelsea

Entry Three - September 19

Dear Daisy, 

The celebration of life was earlier today, and it was beautiful. I’m glad my mom was able to take you to say your own goodbye to your best bud, so you can finally stop staring out the window, wondering when he’ll return, or if he left you for another dog. He would never, by the way. The reception hall had a strict no-animal policy, which is why you had to be taken home before the event. I’ll read my speech to you later tonight, after dinner, and we can have our own celebration for Derrick.  

Hudson, his fraternity brother from college, also said a few words. Actually, several fraternity brothers shared anecdotes, stories, advice they’d learned from Derrick over the years, but Hudson’s words stuck with me. Hearing him talk about their quirky traditions, the games they’d play while setting up for parties, and the stale, leftover beers they’d sip to cope with the clean-up after said parties made me nostalgic for that wild, carefree college experience we both had. I was in a sorority that was close friends with Derrick’s fraternity. That’s how we met. His fraternity was throwing a mixer with my sorority, he approached me by the beer pong table, asked me to be his partner for a game, and the rest is history. That was back when I could stay out until the early hours of the morning, mixing who knows how many different liquors and waking up mere hours later for an 8am class with virtually no hangover.  

Those were the years that changed my drinking habits. Instead of drinking exclusively on special occasions in the safety and security of my childhood home, I was experimenting more, letting loose, having fun. I wouldn’t say no to a cold beer at 1pm on a game day, or bottomless mimosas at a birthday brunch. Nonetheless, I was an engineering major in college, pursuing a degree, working on campus part-time; I had priorities. I described myself as work-hard, play-hard, working hard at a challenging major while maintaining a healthy social life. That didn’t leave much time for hobbies, though, and I’ve realized lately that I miss some of the things I used to do as a kid: coloring, painting, devouring mysteries. I’m starting to pick up some of those again. I got a new library card, checked out some fun new reads, bought some adult coloring books and the biggest set of colored pencils I could find, and found a new TV show to watch. It’s weird to watch a show without Derrick to discuss it with, but the coloring books are a good distraction for the loneliness I still feel.  

Hanging in there, 

Chelsea

Entry Four - September 24

Dear Daisy, 

I’m training some new employees and interns on Zoom today. It’s been a few years since the pandemic started, but I haven’t gone back to the office. Working from home and using Zoom has become a regular part of my day-to-day life. In some ways, I don’t mind it. I save money on gas, food, and professional attire, but I have to admit, I’m getting tired of training other people remotely. I find it easier to connect with new staff, especially interns, when physically present in the office. I can read body language, adjust my training pace as necessary. I feel for this up-and-coming generation, especially the ones who graduated from college while universities still heavily relied on Zoom for remote instruction. This is the only version of the workplace they’ve known.  

The stress of the pandemic and the flexibility of working from home opened the door to many toxic drinking habits for me. I’d get cheeky; a glass (or two) of wine with lunch, making my ritual 6pm cocktail earlier and earlier. As we headed into fall, with a presidential election looming and a socially distanced holiday season with no widely available vaccines yet, alcohol became a coping mechanism for my feelings. Like I said, I’ve never been good with emotions. Maybe this journaling thing is something I should’ve started a long time ago.  

I’ve come to realize that I miss going somewhere and seeing people every day. I like what I do enough, but does it fulfill me? Before the pandemic, I always pictured myself as an engineer. During the pandemic, I was an engineer, and I still am, but losing Derrick has given me a huge reality check: I’m not the same person anymore. Maybe it’s time to try something different. If I’m going to stick with my sobriety journey, I’ve got to get out of the house. 

Cautiously optimistic, 

Chelsea

Entry Five - September 29

Dear Daisy, 

I can’t remember when I last revised my resume this many times in a row, or churned out this magnitude of cover letters. Thank goodness for the recent developments in artificial intelligence; I’d be dead in the water without the help of ChatGPT. I’m sorry our morning walks have gotten a bit shorter, or been moved to the evenings on some days, but you’ll be happy to know I’m enjoying my volunteer position at the food bank. It’s given me a lot of perspective; as bad as I sometimes feel, still coping with the loss of Derrick, others are struggling in ways that I am not. Being able to give back to my community in this way is helping me to heal, to feel whole again.  

Speaking of healing, I finally started making progress on the closet. I’ve been cleaning out Derrick’s clothes, as well as my own, and sorting them into piles: some that I donate, and some that I list on sites like Depop and Poshmark. I’m hoping I can save up some money, and eventually start a scholarship in honor of Derrick. I’m slowly beginning to accept my new normal. I’m definitely not ready to date again, but I’m considering putting some ads out for roommates, preferably other women. Don’t worry, being dog friendly will be non-negotiable. 

Staying hopeful, 

Chelsea

Entry Six - October 6

Dear Daisy, 

After obtaining an emergency credential, I’m a week into my new job as a seventh-grade science teacher. I’m filling in for someone on maternity leave, and while there were some initial bumps as I made a major career transition, I’m surprised by how much I enjoy so many aspects of teaching. I love seeing young, bright minds, optimistic about all of the possibilities their seemingly far-off futures hold. Working in a middle school is a huge change of pace from working for the city; we have spirit weeks, and I make a point to participate in every one. I even volunteered to chaperone the upcoming fall formal. I wonder how many devious shenanigans I’ll witness, and whether they’ll remind me of my own derelict junior high days. I’ve taken a pay cut, but the rewards I’ve reaped from being around a school community has made up for the difference in salary. In the meantime, my parents have been kind enough to help me make ends meet while I continue to interview possible roommates. It hasn’t been an easy search, but for your sake, I’m trying to be picky. I did promise you new dog-friendly faces around the house.  

I’m proud of myself. I stuck with this diary (at least one entry per week), and with my sobriety. I’ve made new friends, rediscovered old hobbies, developed new habits, and met a new side of myself through coming to terms with my grief. Do I still miss Derrick? Absolutely. He was my first real, true love, and he will always hold a special place in my heart. I don’t know when I’ll be ready for love again; maybe in a year, or two, or three. Maybe before that, too. I’m trying to maintain the open mind and open heart I’ve developed this month.  

I can’t thank you enough for getting me out of bed each and every day. Without you by my side through this difficult adjustment to a life I never imagined having to live this soon, I wouldn’t have had the strength to put one foot in front of the other, literally and figuratively. Feeding you, walking you, playing with you, and generally caring for you has given me a purpose, a new passion for life, and a distraction from the crutch I was so worried I’d fall into. Dogs really are man’s (and woman’s) best friends. 

By the way, I’ve gotten really into this diary routine… you can expect to hear from me again. 

All the love in the world, 

Chelsea