Drawing through Grief; My Precious Amber
Losing Amber broke my heart. The grief was- no still is indescribable.
Losing her broke my heart.
She wasn’t just a dog—she was my baby, my quiet companion, my constant through seasons of change. When she passed away, I felt a big gapping hole. Something vital was missing; a big gapping hole and I didn’t know how to manage it.
I felt a kind of stillness I didn’t know how to carry. The house felt quieter. My days felt slower. And I wasn’t quite sure how to fill the space she left behind. So I did the only thing I could do.
I picked up my pencils—and I started to draw her. Hoping to lose myself in the drawing process. It was both good and bad. I did lose myself in the drawing
I can’t explain but I felt to urgency that I needed to draw her; I had to put her down on paper. I felt this desperate compulsion that I HAD to draw her. It needed to be done now.
I pulled out my tablet; looked through my hundred of photos to pick out “the best one” ; very difficult because they were all great
So, I did two things:
Frist: I reached out to my drawing teacher and change the project we were working on together; (she was amazing about this quick change) I changed to a drawing of Amber. We worked on that one together; working through new techniques (for me)
Second: I choose to do a trio copulation of all three of my dogs on my own. This is the black and white drawing. I choose photos of each of them in a joyful moment. Each reference is a memory in time that I have a happy memory attached to it. So, I worked on this drawing, for hours everyday. All of my free time I spent on this; I completely hid myself away in my grief and worked on this. And in a very crazy short amount of time; I completed the drawing.
I believe I was able to achieve this because this was the only way I could try to work through my grief.
At first, it wasn’t easy. Every line felt like a memory. Every stroke brought back the way her ears perked when she was curious, the softness in her eyes, her pure and utter sweetness, the way she always knew when I needed her close. I did get lost in the process and then there were many moments when looking into Amber’s soulful eyes I had to stop drawing because the tears came too fast. Even as I write this the tears are falling But slowly, quietly, something started to shift.
Through the drawing, I wasn’t just grieving—I was honouring.
Each layer was a thank you to my Amber for all the precious memories she gave to me
Each detail, a way of saying I remember you. I miss you. I love you. You mattered.
I wasn’t trying to make the perfect portrait. I was just trying to feel close to her again. And in that process, the weight of grief softened into something gentler—a deep love that will always stay with me.
Now, the drawings are hung up; one in the front entry way for me to see when I come in the house and the one of Amber by herself hangs in my living room for us to see daily. It reminds me every day that even though she’s no longer here in the way I wish she were, the bond we shared didn’t end. It simply changed. She’s still with me—in the quiet moments, in the rhythm of my work, in the love I now pour into every portrait I create.
Because I know what it means to love an animal so deeply.
And I know what it means to lose them.
So if you’re reading this and you’ve lost a beloved pet, I hope you know this:
It’s okay to miss them forever.
It’s okay to cry when you remember them.
And it’s more than okay to create something beautiful in their honor.
Drawing her helped me find peace—and helped me carry her with me, in every pencil stroke, in every piece of art that whispers love.
With heart,
Nancy