“Animals have a much better attitude to life and death than we do. They know when their time has come. We are the ones that suffer when they pass, but it’s a healing kind of grief that enables us to deal with other griefs that are not so easy to grab hold of.” Emmylou Harris, American Songwriter
When I was a child, I often accompanied my mother to see an elderly friend in a semi-independent residential setting. I loved walking around the grounds and making friends with the other residents. One of these was Miss Casey. Miss Casey wasn’t like the other women. She didn’t really mix or like to socialise very much. She wasn’t smiley and friendly like the other women but she had a cat. The cat was Harry, a large, beautiful black and white boy who lay on the decking outside her front door and it was through my stopping to pet him that Miss Casey and I became friends. My trips to the complex started to centre mostly around sitting on the porch with her and watching Harry enjoy our mutual admiration of him.
One day when we arrived there, neither Miss Casey nor Harry were sitting on the porch. When I said it to my mother’s friend she remarked that no one had seen much of her in recent days. I plucked up the courage to go and knock on her door and after a long silence, Miss Casey let me in and told me that Harry had died. Her beautiful friend had been taken ill and there was nothing anyone could do. I remember the stillness of her face and the numb despair in her voice to this day. She barely knew I was there as she related the story. I sat with her until my mother came looking for me and as she went to find the manager to come and find support for her. But soon after that day Miss Casey went to hospital and didn’t come out again. The loss of her friend proved too much for her.
Many, many years later and a lot of pets later, I still think of Miss Casey. Harry wasn’t “just a cat”. He was her friend like all of our beloved pets are, but there’s a slight shame in admitting the effect their losses have on us.
Just as with all losses in life, what we mostly need is someone who can acknowledge the event and its effect on it. In my 20s and in Dublin one day, I chatted to the wonderful poet and writer Pat Ingoldsby who was selling his books on Westmoreland Street. As I paid for my book and knowing him to be a fellow cat lover I mentioned self-consciously that my 12-year-old cat had recently died. Pat got to his feet and took my hand.
“What was her name?” he asked.
“Sheba”
“And do you have any other pets?”
I told him that I had recently moved to my new house and seemed to have inherited a pregnant cat who had been living in the shed. She seemed determined to stick around.
“That would have been Sheba arranging that,” Pat said. “They never leave us without organising another friend to come along when the time is right.”
I never forgot those words and over the years I have probably taken them slightly too literally as my family of pets increases steadily. I have a special love for elderly animals in difficulty and rewarding and beautiful as this is means that goodbyes are inevitable. It never gets easier. My pets are my friends. They are my little family and every goodbye is taking leave of a dear friend who has given happy memories and unconditional love and acceptance.
Being an animal lover of course I have lots of friends and clients who are just the same and sometimes I see the same slight shame around the strength of their grief when a loss happens. Sometimes people make observations that I can relate to so well.
“I never knew it would hurt so much”.
“I know it’s only a dog/cat but the house is so empty”
When our pets die, we suffer a bereavement but sometimes we are afraid to talk about it because we’re all too aware of the losses people around us are going through. How can we compare the death of a pet? We try to pull ourselves together and mourn in private. It’s only in the presence of a fellow pet owner that we can let our guard down a little and admit how much it hurts.
I struggle with anxiety, social anxiety and a general sense of overwhelm out in the world a lot of the time. Animals offer acceptance that helps me build up some confidence. Having my dog with me when I go out helps to lessen the anxiety. Around the house she seems to know if I need a distraction and comes to me with her tennis ball or just her presence, the best thing she can offer, a cuddle and the feel of her solidity and warm coat.
In my volunteer work for an animal rescue, I’ve had so many messages from people in distress when their pet has died. Sometimes they don’t know who else to talk to. Sometimes they are thinking of getting another pet and their grief is still raw and real. Sometimes that person genuinely needs support in their lives to cope with the loss.
Every time I’ve had to say goodbye to one of my dogs, cats or hens, I think of Miss Casey and her beloved Harry. I also think of the people who have to say goodbye to their dog and cat friends when they have to go to nursing homes or need greater support in their own lives. I think of my mother who got such comfort in her final days from my pet kitten and his antics on her bed.
Don’t be afraid to mourn your loss when a pet dies. Find the people who will listen and talk to them. Frame your photos. Talk about them all you want to and don’t be afraid of the word “just”. It doesn’t apply. Your pet wasn’t “just” anything…they were your friend and everything you feel is valid and real. You won’t get over it but you will get through it. Maybe you will want to get another pet and maybe you won’t. Maybe you need time. That’s ok. You’ll laugh at the funny memories. You’ll miss the little moments and the love and care when you needed it most. Gradually your pet will find a place in your life where they are no longer physically present but you will still want to feel and acknowledge them.
You deserve the chance to do this.
“You cannot share your life with a dog…or a cat, and not know perfectly well that animals have personalities and minds and feelings.” Jane Goodall, British Anthropologist