Heart Pangs Are Healthy Pangs

So, I'm in the car running some errands.

Windows down, music playing loud, warm sunny Saturday. Chili dog loves to ride in the car for errands, so she's in the back, in her doggy seat belt, window down, nose sniffing the wind blowing in.

We are listening to my favorite Coldplay summer list.

I have not introduced Chili to enough Coldplay. She needs to understand why it's my favorite.

Then this song comes on.

"ALL MY LOVE."

And next thing you know, I'm crying.

Like choked-up kind of crying.

This is the song I listened to on repeat on my last walk with our first pup, Sydney. It's also what I tearfully listened to a few years ago around this time when Sydney was diagnosed with cancer and given a few months to live.

On the day I said goodbye to Sydney, Whit drove her nine hours to Uncle Robert's in western New York to have our home vet, also uncle, also godfather, aka Doc, help her leave us peacefully.

I couldn't bear to do it.

I said my goodbyes in Boston. Kissed her. Prayed over her—with the thanks of Nick, our minister, who gave her last prayers—and then I headed to the woods for a long solo walk.

I stopped at all of Sydney's favorite spots in the woods.

And cried.

And bawled.

And kept subjecting myself to the same song over and over again:

"You've got all my love, you've got all my love."

I continued to cry for about a week.

And then slowly, a little less each day.

And a little less.

And a little less.

Now, we have a new pup.

Chili came into our lives on a whim last fall, and she will be a year old next month.

She is entirely different from Sydney.

She carries none of the same great traits Sydney had—like plopping down in the middle of the street when she was tired and retreating to a complete dead weight. Or only jumping in the water for treats and never retrieving even though she was, in fact, a retriever. Or rolling around in fish guts by the lake. Or making weird nasally sounds while breathing on your bed, all while somehow managing to push you out of it.

Chili, on the other hand, actually fetches.

She loves a belly rub with her butt in the air. She squeaks with a high-pitched whine when she needs to go out. She plops loudly when she lies down. And she barks REALLY loud and protectively at strangers.

She is also a golden retriever.

Same breed.

Totally different dog.

And though my heart is full of my new pup, new memories and new times, I still miss my girl. My first pup. My Sydney.

She has a little piece of my heart wherever I go.

And when that special song pops up, it takes me right back to a flood of good, silly, funny memories of her.

And I cry a little.

Still choking up in that same heart place.

That little pang causes the same lump in my throat.

But the difference now is that the heart pang doesn't linger as long.

It passes. And then my heart starts to smile.

Funny how that happens.

And it reminds me of our first kid college drop-off, now eight years ago.

My oh my, was that hard on my heart.

It was the same—but different—for all three of our kids, who are now post-graduated and adulting.

And I imagine there are a lot of parents out there feeling this right now.

Maybe you're packing up the car for college.

Maybe you're sending a new high schooler through the doors.

Maybe it's a freshman drop-off.

Maybe your grown child is starting a new job, moving to a new city, or beginning a life that doesn't need you in quite the same way anymore.

Or maybe you're simply helping a kid get settled into a new routine while realizing that your routine is changing, too.

I am thinking of you.

Because those heart pangs are healthy pangs.

Remember that.

It's good to feel.

It's good to cry.

It's good to love something—or someone—so much, so hard and so tenderly that the changing of a season actually hurts a little.

We spend a lot of time talking about health as what we eat, how we move, how much we sleep, how strong our muscles are, or how many steps we get in over here at JRAPPFIT.

But health is also this.

Feeling.

Loving.

Missing.

Remembering.

Letting yourself have the lump in your throat instead of trying to swallow it down.

Because maybe a healthy heart isn't one that never hurts.

Maybe it's a heart that has loved enough to hurt, has enough space to hold what was, and still has room to love what is.

Sydney can still have a piece of my heart. And Chili can have a whole new piece.

My kids can grow up, move away and build lives of their own.

And I can miss the little people they once were while absolutely loving the adults they've become.

Both can be true.

Maybe that's what these heart pangs are reminding us.

We don't have to let go of what we loved to make room for what's next.

We carry it with us.

And eventually, the tears come a little less.

The pang doesn't last quite as long.

The lump in your throat softens.

And your heart starts to smile.

So if you're feeling one of those pangs this week, let yourself feel it.

Turn up the song.

Roll down the windows.

Cry if you need to.

And then keep driving.

Because many times that's health, too.