I find myself at the beginning of my sixth year without Chip, thinking about grief in a quieter, more reflective way. Tillie and Chip had only a few months together before he died, but somehow she still feels connected to him. I can sense it.

It is funny how time passes; I am living in a space that does not hold his soul. The lake house never knew him. The house I bought and the car I drive never welcomed his presence. Most of the furniture never felt the weight of his body and has no memory of him. Tillie cannot look at the pictures on my walls and feel the comfort they give me. Her peace comes from something much simpler and more immediate.

Tillie’s Quiet Soul

One of the things I find most interesting about Tillie is that she is both brave and scared. She is smart, sensitive, and deeply aware of each family member and of our individual habits and feelings. And then, she can be terribly afraid and timid.

And yet, when I really need her, she sets her fear aside. She curls up next to me, offering the sweet comfort that asks for nothing in return and gives everything, from the weight of her very heavy head to the gentle pressure of a single paw. Sometimes it is simply about showing up. We should be there for each other as Tillie is.

We Can All Learn About the Beauty of Being Ourselves

English bulldogs may not be traditionally graceful or sleek like greyhounds, nor as polished as poodles. They’re not carefree or dopey like yellow labs. Instead, they are intense, attentive, and sensitive. Their snoring adds to their charm as they navigate life, making everything more endearing. Tillie’s presence has enriched my life simply by being herself. (I wish we could all be that authentic.)

There is also something freeing about the way she carries herself. She will lie on the beach in broad daylight with her belly hanging out, her tongue in the sun, and what appears to be not a worry in the world. There is no self-consciousness in her, no hesitation, no apology. She simply exists as she is. In those moments, there is no fear or threat of what might be or happen next.

Joy Without Guilt

Ahh, here is where it gets interesting. Tillie knows how to enjoy her life to the fullest. Put food or snacks in front of her, and she is all in. She does not pause to wonder whether she should eat it or calculate the impact on her daily intake or waistline. No, she fully enjoys it.

The other day she had a small bit of a grilled hot dog and her favorite, Wegman’s shredded mozzarella. She ate it happily, stretched on the warm deck, and looked completely content. There is a lesson to be learned from that kind of wholehearted pleasure.

When Tillie sleeps, she truly sleeps. She is completely out cold, relaxed, peaceful, and snoring without a care. Her face shows no tension, and there is no trace of worry. That kind of rest feels rare in human life. Watching her reminds me how much peace there is in letting go, even for a little while.

Looking Ahead With Tillie

I wish Chip could see her now. I wish he could see her at the lake, hanging out with everyone and living her doggie dream. She has come so far from the scared little rescue bulldog we brought home five years ago.

So as I face this sixth year, I am going to try to learn from Tillie. I am going to try to be a little braver, a little more present, a little less self-conscious, and a little more willing to rest. There are no guarantees that the next year will be better than the last five, but I am going to try.