Throughout my life, very few things have evoked more intense emotion in me than witnessing someone who has recently lost a loved one. In the most extreme cases, I have literally been brought to tears, regardless of how well I knew the deceased. While I am aware that most humans experience some level of compassion for the grieving, something about my own reaction disturbed me. I have always felt a mysterious euphoria at the end of my otherwise appropriate period of sadness. When I first became aware of this misplaced joy I was appalled by my own behavior. I imagined how my friends would balk if they noticed my deviant reaction; “How dare he smile at a time like this!? What kind of monster finds pleasure during their friend’s darkest hour?” It was as if my Jungian shadow had come up for air, after a long swim just below the surface of socially acceptable behavior.

Unsatisfied with this generalized explanation, I pursued a more personal answer. Eventually, I realized that my response to other’s mourning had a well-defined progression. My initial reaction was a broad, sweeping pain. This blunt hurt quickly faded, leaving a focused compassion in its place. The stronger my connection to the grieving, the more intensely I shared in their individual suffering. This compassion would eventually transform into a very personal pain. My mind would start to conjure up images of my own dearly departed. Each face would deliver a slightly dulled version of the once razor-sharp pain I felt at their death. Finally came the bleak realization that everyone I love in this world will one day die as well. It was here, bruised and despondent, that an unmistakable surge of happiness would rush through me.

I felt like I was working on a complex jigsaw puzzle; the borders and background were starting to take shape, but the key pieces I needed to make out the bigger picture were nowhere to be found. Eventually, I would find the answers hidden deep within myself, shrouded by a thick fog of pain and further protected by a reinforced wall of defense mechanisms. To find these answers I was forced to explore one of the most painful events in my life, the passing of my dog.

Quantifying the pain one experiences from death is impossible. There is no universal scale for such things; therefore, any attempt to compare individual suffering is arbitrary. That being said, I do wish to provide some context behind my relationship with my dog. I was adopted at birth, and to this day (I am thirty) I have not met my biological parents. In fact, as far as I know I have never met anyone that I am actually “blood-related” to. My first memory, is of my sister (also adopted at birth from a different family) and me hugging each other and crying as we listened to my alcoholic father break a chair over my mother’s back. To her credit, she put him on a plane the very same night and they were divorced a short time later. Unfortunately, my mother would eventually succumb to alcoholism as well. From the age of ten to nineteen, my home life was a hellish blend of receiving emotional abuse and providing resentful care-taking. So much so, that leaving for Marine Corps boot camp three months after graduating high school was a welcome escape. As far as actual death goes, I have unfortunately experienced a significant amount of personal loss. As troubled youths often do, I turned to drugs as an escape from the hell at home. Over the years, I have lost more than ten friends to overdoses and drug related accidents. When I was twenty years old, I lost the closest thing I had to a brother when he overdosed on heroine. He was my best friend and lived next door to me my entire life. While I definitely experience some degree of catharsis in sharing these events for the first time, that story, in its entirety, is for another time. I only share some now to put my reaction to my dog’s death in perspective.

The passing of my dog devastated me because, up to that point in my life, it was the first time I had ever experienced selfless love. My dog was named Maynard and he was a beautiful boxer with fawn markings. I raised him from an eight pound puppy to a ninety-five pound adult. One month after Maynard turned six years old, I came home from work to find his neck severely swollen. I rushed him to an after-hours animal hospital where they quickly diagnosed him with lymphoma. With medication, I was able to temporarily suppress the swelling around his neck and he was able to live five more happy months. I swore to myself that I would put Maynard to sleep when it was apparent that he was no longer happy. While Maynard never lost his joyful and loving demeanor, eventually the swelling in his neck returned, resulting in difficulty breathing. It was clear that he could no longer live a happy life. I made the decision to put him down.

When the time came, I asked Maynard’s veterinarian if I should stay in the room. He said that it would be extremely difficult for me to watch, but it would probably be a little easier for Maynard if someone he trusted was there. Maynard had provided me with so much happiness and love that I was determined to do anything I could to make this experience as easy as possible. I was not prepared for what happened that day.

Maynard was sitting on a rectangular island in the middle of the room. I was standing next to him with my left hand on his back and my right hand on his chest. Maynard’s vet looked to me for confirmation. I nodded to proceed, and he emptied the syringe filled with pink fluid into a vein in Maynard’s left arm. At first there was no change, but roughly five seconds later he panicked and we locked eyes. I saw confusion and terror in his pleading stare. This only lasted for two or three seconds, but unquestionably remains one of the most meaningful moments in my life. His eyes lost focus and his lifeless body collapsed on the counter. I became overwhelmed with a sadness that I cannot put into words. My knees buckled and I crashed to the floor. A tidal wave of despair washed away all of my tangible thoughts. I cried with an intensity I never knew existed. I remained in the slumped position that my body naturally fell into, convulsing with every violent gasp for air. I think I was on the floor for ten or fifteen minutes, but honestly I don’t know for sure. Eventually the details of my life started to filter back in. I remember the first words that formed in my mind, “I had so much more love to give.” I repeated these words over and over again, like some kind of bereavement mantra. In fact, it is these words that held the key to eventually understanding the rogue happiness I experienced while watching other’s grieving.

Undoubtedly, you have heard the expression “tears of sadness or tears of joy.” It always seemed strange to me that the extreme physical manifestations of joy and sadness could be indistinguishable. I now believe this is due to the fact that happiness and sadness are polar responses to the same emotion. Happiness and sadness are actually two different forms of expressing love. The hysterical crying I experienced when Maynard passed was my body’s way of releasing the ungifted love in my heart. This love needed to find a way to exit my body, since I could no longer give it to Maynard. It is like spoiled milk, once milk has gone bad there is no practical use for it; however, you still need to find somewhere to dump the spoiled milk before the smell becomes unbearable. Grief is how our soul discards spoiled love. It is an attempt to keep our unused love from festering and taking over our hearts.

I believe happiness and sadness are two sides of the same coin. We consistently feel a blend of both emotions, due to the fact that all of our relationships will eventually end. Our current “love status” determines the ratio of these emotions. Happiness and sadness are both expressions of love; happiness is how it feels to hold love, sadness is how it feels to lose it. Love is a double-edge sword; you cannot sharpen one side without sharpening the other.

There is an extremely valuable lesson in all of this; not simply a silver lining, rather, a brilliant truth that is at the very core of finding real happiness. Watching someone who has just lost someone very close them provides a unique opportunity to see love in its entirety. They temporarily break through all the barriers and emotional armor they have built around themselves, allowing pure love to burst through. If pure love could be captured in a picture, grief would be the negative of that photograph. This is why I have always felt a rush of happiness while watching someone’s agony at the loss of a loved one. It shows me how much love we are capable of. It reminds me that a day will come when I can no longer give others my love. Most importantly, since that exact day is unknown, it inspires me to focus all of my efforts on expressing A LOVE LIKE THAT to those I hold dearest in my heart. So if you’ve ever been troubled by this rogue happiness, don’t despair, deep down you knew that you were actually witnessing the all-encompassing power of love.

***I would like to dedicate my first public writing ever to my girlfriend, Diane. You have taught me what true love really is. Thank you for saving me from the fire.***