Feeling stuck

I am running on nothing.

Last week’s conference was a huge success. I need to write about it, about the people, especially, but I can’t even get my head around how to do that right now.

blogfest group shot 2016

There’s always this crash that happens after. It usually takes me about a week to recover from Blogfest, but this year has been extra special.

We went straight to Tahoe (so long, steamy Austin!), and the adjustment has been rough.

I am wiped out. Mackenzie is wiped out.

mackenzie bear suit

It’s the HAF. The dreaded, cacophonous HAF (high altitude flatulence), which strains and contorts Mac’s little body, and keeps us bicycling and bouncing through the night.

It’s the dark moments pre-dawn, when despair gives way to melodrama.

I’ll never sleep again.

I am sure of it, each time I start a new set of bicycles on her squishy little thighs.

It’s the pediatrician’s raised eyebrow as he says, your 6 month old is physiologically capable of sleeping through the night.

mackenzie merlin

It’s the moment when I look at my to-do list, rich with exciting projects I’m so inspired to charge into, especially after the heady dose of energy the conference always injects me with.

But I look at that list, and I just want to crawl away and hide.

It’s that Tigger died last week, and I pretended it didn’t happen so I could get through the conference without making everyone listen to me talk about my dog. Oh, and so I wouldn’t spend all weekend bawling my eyes out. 

tigger in the sand


Post-conference, I’m flirting with the denial phase of grief and also, occasionally, bawling my eyes out.


A photo posted by Alyse Mason Brill (@alysemb) on

Every time I walk into a room, I miss his outsized ears swiveling around to meet me, hopeful with the promise of playtime.





Every time I crawl into bed and have enough space and somewhere to actually put my feet, I miss the warm heft of his always-in-the-way body.

tigger on the pier

Every time I look at the lake, I miss him.

tigger pinecone

Every time I spot a pinecone, I miss him.

Every time a toilet paper roll needs changing, I miss him. Every time I finish a plate or bowl that could be licked clean, I miss him.


I know it was his time. He made cancer his bitch and lived 3 times longer than any of the professionals projected. More than once, they told us they were astonished he was still alive.

Nothing we can do. We’re not even sure how he’s still walking. 

I’m sure that in just this one week he’s spent in doggy heaven, he’s already blown past his personal best of 3 tennis balls in his mouth at once.

tigger 3 tennis balls


This feeling will pass, I know. I will sleep and we will get another dog and Mac will delight in her ability to fart independently.

In this moment, I’m sad. Tired. Stuck.

Wait, there's more!

8 Replies to “Feeling stuck”

  1. Oh Alyse…I am so sorry for your loss. I know how much our pets mean to us and they are truly one of the family. Many hugs and much love being sent your way!!

  2. Oh Alyse, Sorry to hear about your doggie! I know what it’s like to be charged up in the entrepreneurial swirl of exciting new projects and ideas, yet be stuck or exhausted or grieving. It’s a tough challenge to have your energy split in opposite directions. I know, in time, you’ll get thru this loss, and in the meantime, do what you need to take care of yourself. That new burst of creative energy will come out at the perfect time for you!

  3. Love and hugs to you, Mac, Nathan and Tigger… Missing you so hard and wishing I was in Tahoe with you, and hanging out by the lake or on the couch in sweatpants with WINE. 🙂


  4. Sitting in an Indy conference room pre-session, crying. This was a beautiful ode to Tigger. May he have all the tennis balls and lake time in doggy heaven! He clearly lived an amazing life with you! I’m so sorry for your loss! Love you lady!!!! xoxoxo!!!!

  5. Alyse, I’m so incredibly sorry for your loss! Even as prepared as you think you are, it’s still such a hard and sad thing. Sending you guys so much love and big ole hugs! xoxoxoxo

  6. I am so sorry and am bawling with you at the moment. your tribute and photos were truly special. I get it. It’s hard but good to remember. xoxo

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