Life is Bittersweet
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All of life is bittersweet. If you describe an experience as bittersweet, you mean it has both happy and sad aspects.
“Those we love don’t go away; they walk beside us every day.”
– Unknown
Life is bittersweet because it rarely gives us only one feeling at a time. Joy often arrives carrying a ripple of happiness, and sorrow can be softened by moments of unexpected beauty.
We celebrate milestones knowing they mark the passage of time. And we cherish people more deeply because we understand how fragile every connection truly is.
The sweetness comes in small, luminous moments, a laugh shared, a memory revisited, a season that feels just right. The bitterness follows close behind, reminding us that nothing lasts forever. And that love, by its very nature, makes us vulnerable to loss.
Yet it is this very blend that gives life its depth. Without sadness, happiness would feel shallow; without longing, gratitude would lose its meaning.
To live is to hold both at once: to smile with tears in your eyes, to be grateful even while grieving. It is to find meaning not in choosing between joy and pain, but in accepting that they walk hand in hand. Life is bittersweet because it is real—and because every fleeting moment matters all the more for it.
Things to See in a Garden:
There is so much to see in a garden: birds and butterflies and ladybugs. And sometimes on a summer evening, there are also lightning bugs.
The other night, I was standing just outside the patio door. I saw one lone lightning bug. And for some reason, I immediately thought of Abi.
Oh, how silly and fun she was. Abi monopolized my attention and seemed to think that I belonged to her. She always gazed at me with unadulterated love in her eyes. And I loved her right back.
“There are some who bring a light so great to the world that even after they are gone, the light remains.”
– Unknown
Mom, I’m Here. See Me???
If she could, Abi would blink in the darkness as if to say, “Mom, I’m here. See me???” She would be upset if she saw tears running down my face. It always spooked her.
I immediately stopped moving and watched the lightning bug flicker in the darkness, overcome with emotion.
For just a moment, I felt her there with me…
“Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality.”
– Emily Dickinson
The Blending Of Emotions Is Bittersweet:
This is what grief is. The blending of sadness and life, moving forward and laughing again, and sometimes seeing something that carries us back into the past.
This process is what I’ve come to think of as bittersweet. Pleasure tinged with sadness or pain.
I think of lemonade. Or sweet pickles. Of my sweet little Abi saying goodbye, but letting me know it’s okay to let her go peacefully onward to the Rainbow Bridge.
“I see you, my sweet baby. Mama sees you.”
Life is So Bittersweet:
But that is how grief is. You are fine for a while, and then you suddenly dissolve into tears. The emotions feel as if your chest will burst, full to overflowing.
I guess it’s appropriate that tears burn as they roll down your face. Don’t you think? It is the squeezing out of sadness, sweet memories mixed with sorrow. And you just never know when some thought will squeeze more tears from you, though you’ve already cried bucketfuls.
Please be patient with me as I go through these necessary stages.
“When we lose someone we love we must learn not to live without them, but to live with the love they left behind.”
–Unknown
A Cucumber & A Pepper:
I picked another ripe cucumber and a pepper while Charlie and I were out for our first morning stroll. And I saw that more gardenias are blooming.
I walked around and could hardly believe what seemed to have happened in my garden space overnight.
Weeds grow in the garden, ants crawl in and out of crevices, and butterflies pause at flowers while transferring pollen.
Did you know that roughly one in every three bites of food we eat comes from plants that rely on animal pollinators like bees, butterflies, birds, and bats? This includes many fruits, vegetables, nuts, coffee, and chocolate.
Did you realize that pollinators are essential for over 75% of the world’s flowering plants and crops?
Bittersweet…life is so bittersweet.
Brushing Charlie:
At night, I brush Charlie. He loves it. They are sweet, unhurried moments between us. I gently brush him, and I feel his body relax beneath the soft bristles.
It is part of our new ritual—the formation of now-familiar rituals between us.
Life never stands still. Not for a moment. We have to grab onto the glimpses of lightning bugs and cherish those moments.
We need to walk around, fully aware of the simple beauty that surrounds us. It might be a new bloom or a male cardinal singing his beautiful song high up in a nearby tree.
Some people don’t take adequate time to enjoy these things. They’re busy and rush through life, chained to the ticking of the clock. And the little things are so essential to our physical and mental health that they go unnoticed.
Please don’t feel that you have to keep writing comments saying how sorry you are for my loss. It is not necessary. I know that all of you are there for me. I feel your caring and concern, and I so appreciate you all.
Just let me write the words spewing forth while her death sinks in. Let me grieve and be there, you wonderful readers who have stuck by me through thick and thin.
With loss first there is shock and immediate pain, and the feeling that life will never be the same. Finally comes acceptance.
Life goes on.
A Line From Romeo & Juliet:
There is a line from William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Juliet is saying goodnight to her beloved Romeo. Their sad parting is also sweet, as it makes them think of the next time they will meet.
And if life does not intervene tragically and take someone that you love from you, then you will say goodnight again.
Which is why the word “goodbye” is so bittersweet. Grief is love with nowhere to go.
No need to appologize for sharing your feelings…the words help you heal. Hugs to you and Charlie.
I just don’t want my post to be a downer for anyone.
Brenda, I wholeheartedly believe God knows when we need just a bit of reassurance that our loved ones are ok. He loves us enough to let us see these, seemingly, random glimpses just at the right time. Like He’s telling us, “It is ok to move on. I have your precious baby in my arms.”. God cares about everything that is important to us…even our furbabies. I have been praying for you and Charlie. I thank God for sending this precious, tiny, lightening bug to you!
Grace & Peace,
Pam
I so rarely see lightning bugs, that it seemed to have meaning for me.
the thought of little Charlie allowing himself to be softly brushed…
that brings joy to my heart! how happy he is just being near his mom.
feeling joy in small things yet still allowing those moments of sorrow.
we never tire of your words.
He won’t get up right against my body. But I’m trying to encourage him to get closer and closer. When I would brush both Abi and Charlie, they would kind of fight over who got to be brushed. Now I slowly brush him and he seems so content.
Brenda,
I’m not much of a commenter, but I want to let you know how much I love reading your posts (and I’m not a “reader”)! They are so easy to read, poignant and heartfelt. You have a wonderful gift. Your words flow so beautifully. Thank you for sharing your gift with all of us.
Oh, I’m so happy you enjoy the posts I write. You don’t have to comment. It’s certainly not mandatory!
A beautiful post with beautiful photos. I love reading your posts (happy, sad, informative, comtemplative, etc). Your words are from the heart and soul and allow us not only to share your space but to examine our own space (both physical and mental). Thank you.
I want my readers to feel like they’re sitting on my patio drinking coffee or tea and we’re chatting.
I ‘feel’ Charlie kitty visit me often. I just know he is there letting me know he cares and misses me also. Comforting!
Linda, I know how much Charlie kitty meant to you. I’m so glad you have a new companion.
Turn around and blink, there are angels all around you. There are miracles that happen everyday that we don’t recognize. God’s love for us all is endless.
Yes, there are miracles every day. Thanks for the reminder.
I haven’t check your blog (or any others) for a long time…I began teaching again (at 65 – can you believe it?) to grow my retirement fund. I am enjoying it though – I am at the same school my daughter teaches at and where her daughters (my only granddaughters ages 6 12 and 8) attend school. I barely have time once I get home to do all the internet browsing I used to, so I did not know your Abi passed. I am so sorry, so very sorry. We are grieving the loss of our ‘child’, Dexter Lee, our 14 1/2 year old Dachshund. We had to let him go to sleep two weeks tomorrow. The earth stood still, time stopped and our hearts broke at 8:25 that day. His brother, Toby Blyn (also a Dachshund) misses him so – his eating habits have changed, he goes through the house looking for him, and he sits at the doorway looking into the entry hall at the front door. He whines a lot – we shower him with extra attention and baby him more.
Letting them go is a horribly hard thing to do – but he was ready – his little skeletal system and his little body had just given out and it was his strong will (and our fantastic Veterinarian) who kept him going as long as it did.
We cherish all the 14 1/2 years we had with him (we picked him out at 2 weeks of age and brought him home at 6 weeks of age). I know your precious memories will give you strength also…and your Charlie. Thinking of you! Laura in Lubbock
I am so sorry for your loss. With the timing, we are grieving together.
Sounds like you are grieving very appropriately ~ write away.
Hugs ~
What would I do without all of you?
Beautifully written, Brenda. I look for signs from my husband who passed in January. You are so right about being fine one minute and in tears the next. Anything and nothing can trigger tears.
Your garden is just wonderful, such a solace for you and Charlie. I love that he enjoys the brushing routine. Interestingly, my Max, a tabby cat, who never wanted to be brushed, has in these last few months, grown to love it. We all take comfort where we can. Keep writing, please.
Mary
I couldn’t stop writing if I wanted to. I hope we help one another. Strength in numbers.
You heal in your own time and in your own way. I believe Abi wanted to let you know she is okay and she loves you and wants you to be happy. Writing is a wonderful way of healing
It truly is healing for me. It helps me sort things out.
Oh how I love reading your posts. Your words flow so gently on the page for me. Maybe it’s time you do write a book on the grief of losing a pet. Your story of losing Abi.
I couldn’t do it now. But I do love writing every day to all of you.
That was beautiful and touching. Hugs to you.
I hope I don’t make anyone feel too sad. Thanks.
I’m glad you’re getting the words out and that it’s healing for you. {{hugs}}
I’ve always written through emotions. As a child I could not voice what I was feeling. And back then, I don’t think anyone wanted to listen anyway. So writing things down does help me.
Please don’t stop writing about your dear Abi and how you are dealing with her being gone.
I just took a road trip to see relatives who live in Oregon and Washington. My dog Romeo loved these car trips and always had a great time. At my daughter’s house in Salem, she casually took a toy that had been Romeo’s and gave it to my other daughter’s dog, which was ok but was just a bit sad for me.
Also while I was at my middle daughter’s home in WA state, I went to close the bedroom door the first night, and I found myself getting ready to call for Romeo before remembering he was no longer here.
As I walked around her property, (she lives in the country) I kept remembering how much Romeo loved roaming the property with my daughter’s dogs. We always lived in apartments and he was usually walked on a leash, so this sort of thing was a huge treat. I don’t think I will ever quit crying and missing him.
It has been almost 2 years now and I still cry over losing him.
Have you considered getting another pet? It sure won’t be your precious Romeo, but it could provide you company and love.
Dear Brenda,
There is no time limit on grief. The tears are good for you..
God Bless you and Charlie.
I know. But I just don’t want readers to tire of my sadness. I have to write what I feel each day. It’s the only way I know how to process it all.
Your garden is soooooo beautiful. Since I do not have one, I just wanted to say thank you for sharing yours. I look forward to the pictures of it every day. They bring me peace even through the computer.
I always worry that my outdoor photos could become boring. But I so love to take them! I’m happy to share my patio space with you.
When my sweet little puppy left us I remember thinking this…
Worth it.
Every dog hair I vacuumed,
Every doodle I scooped,
Every snack I shared,
Every toy I tripped over,
Every midnight outing for doggie issues,
Every penny spent,
Every tear I shed……
WORTH IT!
Blessings to you!
Minnie
Every word so very true!
I believe…
Beautiful.
I was going to tell you a little story the other day but decided not to; it was that some months after my mom died I was working in my garden and a blue butterfly landed right next to me on the ground. Without thinking I said aloud “Mom.” I smiled; it was the color of her eyes. She came to see me. Like a lightening bug.
Oh, I’m so glad you shared that with me. It helps me to know that I’m certainly not alone in my grief.
You’re too hard on yourself, Brenda. It’s only been a few week since Abi passed away. I can come to tears thinking about my dearly departed much loved pets, the last one of whom died in 2004, and I think about them often. Each of us works through these trials, tribulations and the pain in our own way. Give yourself time, don’t be so impatient with yourself, please! I love it when firefly season comes to my area. It is sad, though, when the days tick by and then it is September and the little flying bugs with the big lights disappear, one by one, until one night all you see is one light blinking in a shrub, and there are no return flashes of light. Some years back, a dear friend of mine who lives in Las Vegas, NV and her then young teenaged daughter would visit me for 2 weeks or so every summer. They loved the SE WI summers and all the grass that didn’t have to be kept artificially alive, and all the green – everywhere! We were sitting on the deck at sundown one evening that first summer they visited and the fireflies started flashing amidst the shrubs, garden beds and trees, seeming to rise out of the Earth in gentle waves! She jumped up and said WHAT IS THAT? I said it’s fireflies. She had never seen one. They don’t have fireflies in Las Vegas, too dry I guess. After that, she couldn’t get enough of the fireflies. They seemed magical to her. And so they are. I make wishes on them, like some people wish upon the first star they see in the night sky, “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight…” And every year, like clockwork, the fireflies come back.
Thank you for your beautiful words. I loved reading them!
As time passes, you will find you smile more than you cry when you think of Abi. She was such a sweet gift.
I love to see “Gardening Charlie” trimming (well..eating) that plant.
Some days I feel much better. Then I plummet. I try hard to hide this from Charlie. Yes, he is my garden trimmer.
How beautifully said on all points. You are so right. I will remember, also, what you wrote about tears, and it will help me. Lot of tears in our home right no w, too. Maybe a new normal ciming..
I hope we can all help one another through the pain of life lessons.
She is there, blinking at you. She will come to get you when it’s your time to go. But, for now, she watches over you and Charlie.
I hope so.
Brenda, I love the lightening bug story! How wonderful to see it as Abi coming to visit. I do the same every time I see a cardinal. I speak to the cardinal and call it Munchen the name of my late girl. And its strange but it is sometimes like it can hear me because it will hop closer and look at me as if to tell me it is her.
We are here for you and love to see what you and Charlie and the garden are up too.
Have a good day, cherish all of the little moments.
When I lost a dear friend in 2006, I remember I found a garden cardinal and placed it in my garden. For me it was her. She loved red cars and often drove one. It was my thought that we watched over one another. I would go to my garden and talk to her. It is my spiritual way to grieve.
I read and learn something every time I read what you have shared each day and there are definitely moments of enlightenment that help me through my grief for Lucy. Give and take, we all stand by each other in one way or another. I’m happy to listen and support. Thanks to you, too.
I’m so hoping we can help one another through these difficult times. Sharing is a golden opportunity to accept what is, knowing we are not alone.
The moments we feel and see our loved ones again in the small things are priceless. Keep writing. We are here.
Thank you. I just need to get the words out.
I understand. We had two l little Morkies and now only 1. Cancer
?
I do believe that those we love come back to us in various ways to check in and just say hi. I think it’s different for everyone, and some are more open to it than others.
I’ve begun to think that too. I am open to it because I suppose I desperately want it to be so.