Crippling Grief Over the Loss of a Pet Is Painfully Real
Please stop disenfranchising the bereaved. Loss is loss, regardless of what form the deceased took.
When my K9 soulmate died, one of my colleagues didn’t speak to me for over a month.
Others dropped by my desk to pass on their condolences. Or they observed my floodgates open with each visitor, and with kind intentions, they instead chose to drop me an e-mail. They graced me with a sensitive smile when I looked up from reading their words with tears in my eyes.
Some people don’t know how to handle other people’s suffering. And instead of leaning into their own awkwardness and showing humanity and compassion, they avoid it altogether.
In my darkest days, six years ago, my colleague looked right through me and avoided having to speak to me.
Sure, many people don’t understand the excruciating pain of the loss of a pet. But we don’t need to understand something to validate it.
If we know someone is hurting, what can we say or do to show kindness?
Here we go again
On 11th February at 19:15, I stroked Zac’s ears and watched as the light left his eyes.
One moment, his chest was rising and falling. And the next, he lay motionless.
We understand the logical concept of death. But when witness to the moment death comes, there’s a confusion, an excruciating internal void opens up and screams out.
I return to my abode, now more a house than a home.
I sit in the emptiness.
I wake up in the middle of the night thinking I hear him.
I rise in the morning, and for a split second, he’s still alive. But then I remember, and I groan, and tears roll onto my pillow.
Because no matter how prepared we are, we are never ready to say goodbye. And we are certainly never ready for the life that comes after this goodbye.
The grief from the passing of a pet is real
While I took four days annual leave after I lost Jasper, six years ago, because I simply could not function, a colleague was given open ended compassionate leave over the death of his partner’s grandmother.
What right do workplaces have to decide which death requires compassionate time off and which we can work through?
At that time in my life, no other death could have devastated me as much. Jasper’s passing obliterated my soul and led to a completely different life trajectory.
Being inside out and upside down over the death of a pet is not an indication of having no one else in our lives. Rather, it’s testimony to just how intricate, extraordinary and imperative pets are to some of us.
The love for a pet is no less real than our love for a human.
In this article titled Why the death of a pet can feel worse than losing a human loved one the author, Kelli Bender, who is a pet loss counsellor, says:
“Heartbreak is heartbreak. Of course, the closer we are to a person, then the more deeply we mourn the death of that person. But this is true of the animals we love, too. If there is a difference between losing a human and losing an animal, it has to do with the depth of the love. Species doesn’t matter at all.”
Kelli is on a mission to end the specism in grief.
He talks about the “sun going out” and a pain “bone marrow deep” when he had to say “goodbye” to his cat.
There are also complex feelings of guilt and trauma and harrowing thoughts questioning if we failed our pets and whether we have done right by them.
While our inner world is in turmoil, our outer world is often business as usual. There’s a societal expectation that we just bounce back from the death of a pet.
But grief is grief. And there is no time scale to it.
Look for the signs
This time, I’m more prepared. It doesn’t necessarily make it easier. But I knew to shrink away and give myself the grace to listen to my heart. I cancelled plans. I disengaged from the world, and I sat with my pain.
I didn’t turn to alcohol.
The arduous task of chewing meant I had to liquidise whatever food I could try to ingest.
I shouldn’t be surprised that Zac showed up in his new form the day after he passed away.
Having already experienced a spiritual encounter with rainbows when Jasper passed away, I had faith it would happen again.
The day after we said goodbye to Zac, we visited his favourite beach. We walked over the rabbit-infested sand dunes and could almost see Zac out of the corner of our eyes, bolting from warren to warren, tongue loping out and an enormous smile plastered across his face.
On our return journey, he led us home. Up ahead a full arch rainbow filled the sky. My husband scoffed a little, not quite prescribing to the association with Zac.
But as we lay on our bed, emotionally exhausted and weeping freely, my husband told me Zac and Jasper were with us.
There outside our window was not just one rainbow but a double rainbow. We lay transfixed by Mother Nature.
My beautiful dogs were together again — a comforting message, reassuring us that Zac was ok and he and Jasper were reunited.
It’s still raw
Some days I’m ok and life appears somewhat normal. But there are other days when the emptiness gnaws at my insides, and the tears flow. This morning is one of those.
Words help me express my grief journey.
In the rawest of days, I wrote this tribute to my boy. You may have already read it in a piece from last month.
My rhythm of life mutates, As your rhythm of life stops. A stark reminder of fragility and impermanence. Sediments of our love weigh heavy. But in the frantic search for your presence, There is peace in the stillness.
For you have left me with your ferocious courage and unwavering self-knowing.
You gifted me permission to embrace my weird and wonky self. You taught me that the discarded and overlooked can still glow brightly. Our flaws can be our superpower. Keep running, my perfectly imperfect boy.
And that is the best way I can describe it.
When we lose a pet, our rhythm of life completely changes. Our world is overhauled and an emptiness seeps into the every day. Life loses its colour.
I wrote this secondary piece a few days ago. Perhaps it’s a reflection of my current grief journey.
Your beds lay scattered around the house Empty and desolate. Your lead still hangs in hope by the door. But you no longer need these earthly things. For you sleep on clouds and run free through the sky. Yet, every day, I still look for you. I think I hear you. Am I just unwilling to accept your absence? Or is your soul now embedded in my heart?
Give yourself and others the grace to grieve
Death changes us.
Every loss we experience alters our navigation system. When we love another so ardently, whether they are human or animal is irrespective. What matters is the purity and depth of our connection.
If you are experiencing the loss of a pet, please give yourself the grace to grieve. Know you are not alone. You may also benefit from therapy to help you navigate this painful time. As Google will show you, therapy to help come to terms with the loss of a pet is very common.
If you are on the periphery of someone who has recently lost a pet, please validate their loss and show kindness and compassion. If you don’t know what to say or do, consider how you would respond if this were the loss of a close family member or friend and respond accordingly.
If we all showed a little bit more generosity to ourselves and others, the treacherous terrain of grief may be easier to navigate.
I’m delighted that the (slightly) younger me had the presence of mind to write this piece, titled “9 funny ways my expletive dog has aged me” about Zac, back in 2022. Reading it back had me laughing and crying. I hope it has the same effect on you. He was some boy!
This article was initially published on Substack. If you enjoyed this piece, please subscribe to the Abnormally Normal Newsletter. A substack newsletter with weekly word hugs for everyone who feels they don’t fit in.
