I dreamed about Alex one night.

It doesn’t happen as often as you might expect. Perhaps that is for the best, because the dreams always end the same way—with the realization that Alex is no longer here.

She was probably on my mind because I spent that evening editing pictures from a memorial walk held by her high school graduating class. As part of its 10-year reunion celebration, the class wanted to remember Alex and another classmate, Tyler, who had passed away.

Samantha, one of Alex’s classmates, welcomed everyone to the event. Her words, along with the walk itself, crystallized something I think I had known for years but never acknowledged.

The burden of grief is much lighter when it’s shared.

If you had asked me before Alex’s illness, I would have told you I prefer to handle personal business alone. But even on the hardest days, such as her viewing and her funeral, there was comfort in being among family and friends.

Sharing the grief made it easier.

I wasn’t sure how that was going to work. My daughter had died hours earlier. I was walking into a gym packed with people, most of whom knew my story. And to top it off, there was a banner that ran the length of the gym featuring my photos of student-athletes—including one of Alex, larger than life, running track.

Still, this felt like a better idea than staying home alone with my grief.

By photographing the meet, I did something I loved and surrounded myself with people who cared about me.

If I had been in the stands watching someone else do that, I would have wondered why on earth they were there. Now I know.

I was lucky. For the first 56 years of my life, I really didn’t know grief. But once I did, even if I didn’t consciously acknowledge it, I learned that the burden of grief is lighter when shared.

The memorial walk was not a hard day. It was uncomfortable at first. Any public event about Alex, where I don’t know exactly what to expect, carries the risk of unanticipated emotions. I prefer to keep those emotions in check.

But it turned out to be easy. I brought Dakota with me. She makes everything easier.

It was also easy because friends and family of both Alex and Tyler were there for support. That made the day enjoyable.

The picture at the top of this post is of Alex and Blitz when he was a puppy. Facebook reminded me that this is the day we brought Blitz home in 2009.

I miss them both and hope they are together.

Thank you to everyone who has made my journey easier.

To anyone who is struggling with grief, you do not have to go through it alone.

This story is one of those that matter—the lessons from The Great Dog Pack that reflect what the Alex Lebovic Foundation carries forward.

If you’d like to support that work, you can make a donation, explore The Great Dog Pack, or visit the shop. And if you’d like to follow along, you can subscribe below to Stories from the Pack.