Grief as an Exquisite Teacher
On the hike back from Island and Rainbow Lakes on Tuesday, I chatted with a fellow writer. She told me she thought grief was an “exquisite” emotion. Like Brene Brown, I see it as “excruciating.” When I asked her to elaborate, she said she’d learned so much about herself since her father died unexpectedly three years earlier.
As I review the struggles of the past month, I see what she means. On hikes, I miss Ajax terribly, but I’m also grateful for eleven years together on the trails. If I get emotionally triggered, I finger the “courage”, “Ajax ever-ready,” and heart-shaped rocks I carry in my pocket. Or I bring his collar on my wrist ito my heart, or swing his leash draped across my body. His spirit reminds me to look up and see something beautiful that he would have loved. Unique blooming flowers. Dew-covered spider webs. A waterfall peeking through the branches.
I wish I weren’t in this painful stage, and I wish hourly that he could be back with me, but I am learning that grief is an exquisite teacher.
Grief and the Path to Trust
Perhaps one of the strongest lessons is to trust not only myself in the wild, but also my companions. My CHS-1 and CHS-2 hikers have been wonderfully supportive, much like they were last September on the Thompson Point graduation hike when I forgot 2/3 of my food in the dark car as we prepared by headlamp.
One hiker even brought me a card and a wonderful picture book called “Tail of Love and Loss.” The images in the picture book reminded me of Ajax about to cross Rainbow Bridge. Told from the dog’s perspective, the story lands with the dog’s words: “Thank you for understanding and letting me go into the light. I love you and I always will. Thank you for my life.”
I am learning to trust my process: carrying him with me on walks and hikes (via his collar or leash), letting myself cry through the memories, knowing the best and most direct way past the grief is to wade right in. Now a full month beyond saying good-bye, I trust I will never be the same again. But perhaps the best way to honor him is to rebuild stronger and with empathy for others going through painful transformation.
Grief and Connection
I’ve been surprised at the unexpected ways Ajax has continued to connect people, even though he’s no longer physically here.
- Hikers give me hugs and empathize especially if they have had pets of their own.
- People I’ve never met on Washington Trails Association send me condolence comments on my trip reports.
- The Mountaineers even recognized my Annette Lake trip report (the first hike I led after saying good-bye) as a Top Ten for May, 2026. The person who chose it shared, “I loved the small tenderness of this report: a beloved dog’s leash, brought along in memoriam, still finding a way to help care for the trail.”
I see now that he wasn’t just my best friend, but the constant in so many relationships of all types. I want to honor him by sharing stories and letting others grieve for him, too, in their own way.
Grief and Growth
Even though the grief remains painful, palpable, and fresh, I can see other parts of my life start to sprout. I have accepted speaking engagements for the fall. I’ve joined forces to lead and co-lead more Conditioning Hiking Series hikes and naturalist trips throughout the summer. And my daughter comes home from college in a week as a new college graduate.
If I had tried to avoid or suppress this grief – or worse, hid from the world like I did fifteen years ago when our first dog, Emily, died – I would have missed out on:
- 5 birding trips to Union Bay, Stillwater, Edmonds waterfront, and Marymoor Park twice
- Hikes to seven different lakes with CHS-1 and CHS-2 students
- A unique Mariners – Mets baseball game that resulted in a 10th inning, 3-2 win
- A Choir of the Sound performance honoring music of the 60’s and 70’s including “Blowing in the Wind”, my biggest trigger
The woman who said goodbye to her dearest Ajax on May 7 was devastated, and facing a long uphill battle through pain and despair. And yet the woman coming out of that first month has rekindled a spark of hope. For connecting with her daughter. For the rest of this hiking season that is just getting started. And for numerous opportunities, from travel to coaching to teaching to learning. All of these were crafted out of that loving, trusting relationship with Ajax.
One Final Lesson
I used to think healing meant replacing whatever has been lost. But Ajax – like any other beloved family member – is irreplaceable. I am not in a position to train a puppy, and any puppy would need at least two or three years, minimum, to train to be as awesome a trail dog as he was.
Instead, I’m learning that life grows around loss. Trust allows that growth, and connection is how it happens. Ajax has taught me that I have a lot to offer, and when I walk with his leash and remember all the wonderful times we had, I feel blessed to have been his person and to carry him forward as Angel Ajax, the trail steward he was, and the influence he’s been on the community. Perhaps that’s what makes grief such an exquisite teacher. It hurts deeply, yet it reveals what matters most.
