Did he know?

Did he know?

That is often a thought that pops up in my mind when I think about Griffin's death.

Did he know that baggie had fentanyl in it? Did he know it was a lethal dose that was

about to end his life? He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have. Right?

Life was “normal” for all of us, and life was especially “normal” for Griffin on that

cool September night in Chicago.

Door dash was ordered.

The dog had been walked.

Days had passed before anyone knew he was gone. Three days to be exact. He laid

alone without anyone coming to physically check on him for three days.

There is nothing more gut-wrenching than knowing someone you love, who already felt

so alone in life, was alone at the end.

That deep pain swirls around in my head. The heart breaking, intrusive thoughts

circle around but never seem to exit my internal drain.

Did he know he was dying? Does he know a piece of each person who loved him so

deeply also died with him?

I’m not someone who is afraid of death. I imagine it brings deep peace. But when the

end is just so incomprehensible, it hits you like a ton of bricks.

Did he think of his loved ones? Did he think of all the things he did or did not do?

These are questions that will never be answered, but they circle in my head and I want

to understand. And, I’m not the only person who wants the answers.

I hold firm to the belief that if he knew, he wouldn’t have done it. He wouldn’t have

left any of us with this gaping hole in our hearts.

Why haven’t they come out with a ‘Grief For Dummies’ yet? Why can’t someone make

this easier? Explain it for us to help ease the pain. I imagine this question would be a

major chapter. And... another chapter would say all of these thoughts and scary

questions are normal.

Sometimes I close my eyes and picture him on the beach with our family dogs who

have passed, Miller Lite in hand, looking down on us giving hugs from afar.

At peace. Yes, I am comforted when I see him at peace.

Did they know? I don’t think they did.