What Do You Do When Your Unconditional Joy Source Disappears?

One thing becomes very clear after breast cancer: seizing joy is now a non-negotiable. Otherwise, what’s the point of the suffering? Why put off joy to a day that might never come?

My purest, most unconditional joy source for the last 14 years has been Jackson, our beloved rescue dog. Going into treatment, I knew his days were numbered—he had overcome melanoma for 7 years (almost unheard of) and had been diagnosed with liver cancer 6 months before my own diagnosis (the vet gave him weeks or maybe a few months at best, later telling us he was shocked Jackson was still doing well a full year later).

Turns out, Jackson gave me a blueprint for joy despite cancer (it just took me awhile to figure it out 🙄). Sure, he slowed down some, rested more, but he never stopped wanting to be with his people, head out for adventures or just breathe in whatever view captured his imagination that day.

When he took a turn two months ago, we were determined not to waste a moment with him. We visited all his favorite spots, pups and people, enticed him with hand-fed delicacies and enjoyed bittersweet cuddles. We refused to indulge in anticipatory grief (harder than it sounds) to maximize every wonderful moment we had left together.

So when we had to say goodbye last month, the pent-up grief was overwhelming (which is also why I haven’t been writing and the podcast will launch a bit later than planned). Anyone who has said good-bye to a beloved pet will understand exactly what I mean.

But now, a month later, I’m starting to answer the question that was (no pun intended) dogging me: what do you do when your unconditional joy source disappears?

Maybe it’s a pet, a person, a hobby/career you can no longer do. How do you start to move forward again?

You grieve. However the hell you want, whatever makes you feel better. Scream, sob, cry softly, eat a gallon of ice cream, wear their collar around your arm, sleep with their favorite toy.

I will share this that helped the most in dealing with the big empty space that our 10- pounder left behind: gather your photos.

While my life is generally pretty well organized, photos were the last frontier—I still hadn’t gone through both phones to ensure we had all the best digital shots. I decided to buy a digital frame—I went with this one after reading reviews, but most any one will do the job.

And spent four days—not kidding—going through almost 20 years of shots, deleting the bad ones, making shared digital albums, sending the best to the frame and ensuring the back-ups were working and we had a capture system going forward.

It was soothing (I’m probably weird that way), but the real reward was seeing the images I sent to the frame pop up in front of me, so lifelike and immersive. I’d thought about making a photo book—perhaps I still will—but this is so much more immediate and stunning. It’s a constant, colorful reminder of the great life our little trio enjoyed to the hilt.

Other things really helped as well: one beautiful friend sent us Laura Lynne Jackson’s book Signs: The Secret Language of the Universe (and noted that our first sign was the author’s last name). It’s exactly the book to read while grieving the loss of anyone close to you. We now both have a series of comforting “signs” to tell us when Jackson is nearby.

Another dear friend who is a Psychic Medium explained that 90% of her readings include a beloved pet when the deceased communicates with her. Believing that we will be together again is a powerful way to deal with the grief of now.

Eventually after loss, we feel ready to tackle being part of the world again—some go fast, others go slow. For me, I’m just reaching out tentatively to explore new avenues of joy. Will we get another dog? Maybe, but not yet—it’s still too fresh and since Jackson wasn’t replaceable, we must be ready to welcome an entirely new personality.

Dealing with my breast cancer—and two kinds of cancer with our pup—has been a lot in less than a year. But I am convinced joy lives underneath all of it and can grow in the aftermath…