Honoring Our Grief

Honoring Our Grief

My cat, Zacky, died one year ago this week at the age of 17, and losing him was one of the deepest sorrows I’ve ever experienced. He had been my constant companion through some of the most difficult years of my life and it broke my heart having to say goodbye to him. I wrote a long, personal essay about him and his last months of life right after he died, and it was one of the most read pieces I’ve ever written.

I heard from friends, acquaintances, and even strangers after that, words of condolence and support, but also thanks, which surprised me. Several people shared that they too had lost pets recently, but they hadn’t disclosed their grief to the people around them for fear they’d be told to “get over it,” or that “it was only a cat/dog.” A few asked me to write more about the grief we feel when our animals pass on.

Sadly, Zacky isn’t the only pet I’ve lost recently. My two dogs, Olive and Hazel, whom I adopted along with my now ex-wife, both died over the last two years. Olive about seven months before Zacky, and Hazel two months after him. They had stayed with my ex-wife and kids after the divorce, so I hadn’t lived with them for years, and there’s a way in which their deaths are not entirely real to me, but I’ve still cried about losing them.

Accepting that our grief is valid

I grew up with dogs and cats, and my parents were just as attached to them as my siblings and I were, so it makes no sense to me when others dismiss pets’ deaths as somehow insignificant. Like every emotion, grief is an automatic reaction to situations and events. We don’t choose how we feel or how strongly grief hits us.

And, like every emotion, grief requires no justification. I realize our culture frequently suggests that strong feelings, especially sadness, are a sign of weakness, an irrational response to be controlled and hidden, but that’s unnatural and, often, unhealthy.

Every loss – and every grief – is unique

I’ve faced a variety of losses in the past decade – my divorce, my estrangement from my children, and my father’s death have been truly shattering. But that doesn’t mean the others don’t count. The deaths of my pets, losing my job in 2015, and all the grief tied up in the pandemic and its associated traumas, they’re all valid and real, even though they’re not all the same.

In addition to telling me about the loss of their own pets, people have shared other heartbreaks with me. Several told me about their struggles with aging parents, which I know firsthand is its own kind of grief, and some of my friends have recently lost their spouses. Two people shared the trauma of miscarriage, losing a child they never got to know or see grow, and I was horrified to hear how others told them they shouldn’t mourn their loss, as if their child was any less real because they passed on before their birth.

The stigma around grief, and the expectation that someone mourning must grieve in a specific way and at an intensity society prescribes as appropriate, is grotesque to me. Loss is hard enough without the added societal pressure and shame.

Mourning is different for everyone and every time

I’ve written before about the stages of grief that psychologists often use as a roadmap for people feeling overwhelmed by a loss. But it’s important to remember that the map is not the territory.

When Zacky died, I didn’t experience any denial or anger. I’d spent months caring for him through his various illnesses and, when he died, I was sitting nearby. I knew I had done all I could for him, that death comes for us all, and I was thankful he was able to pass peacefully, knowing that I was near. I cried for days, but I also wrote about it – something I’ve never done before – and that helped. I put my apartment back to the way it had been before his last illness, moving my bed back up onto the frame and taking down the barriers I’d used to keep him from overexerting himself, and I started to return to the ordinary rhythm of my life. I still miss him, occasionally expecting to hear him come running when I open the pantry, frequently talking to him, but I’m mostly at peace.

In contrast, my feelings following my divorce and the subsequent estrangement from my kids have been a chaotic and ongoing rollercoaster. I still struggle with denial, even though I know rationally that I will never regain the life I had before. I understand that it would be cruel for me to hold onto my ex-wife after all the pain and disappointment I caused her, and I know that I have to accept my daughters’ explanations that contact with me is detrimental to their mental health. I’ve been angry at times, offered bargains to a deity I don’t believe in, and I went through a period of depression that took me back into therapy. But mostly I feel sad, and I suspect that sadness will be with me from now on.

The closest I’ve ever come to the traditional stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and, finally, acceptance – was after the sudden death of my Mom. I’d lost loved ones before – my best friend in the summer before we were to start high school, my grandparents, two fathers-in-law – but my mother’s death was the first that completely changed my world in a way I didn’t previously realize was possible.

But I know there are larger blows, and I cannot fully grasp how people survive them: the death of a spouse, for example, or, worse, the death of a child.

Honor your grief, but don’t allow it to consume you

There are infinite ways to express sorrow and to travel through the journey from loss to acceptance. I believe sharing our feelings is essential, as is crying with someone who understands and being gentle with ourselves. Journaling, making art, volunteering, reaching out to friends and family; the list is probably endless.

In a very real way, grief breaks us, and our lives are never the same.

Still, that doesn’t mean we can let it consume us. As long as we’re moving forward, however slowly or painfully, I believe we must honor the process.

But if we get stuck or begin to spiral downward, it’s essential to recognize that process as something other than grief. We’re no longer honoring our loss but may instead be holding onto a world that no longer exists. While it’s understandable, that’s in some ways the opposite of grief. When we find ourselves acting in ways our loved ones would never have wanted, surrendering hope, or pulling away from life, it’s necessary to get help.

One of the suggestions I have frequently made when working in therapy with someone drowning in grief, especially after the suicide of someone they loved, is to imagine the person wherever they might be after their death and to speak with them. Every time, my client has realized their loved one would understand their grief but beg them not to let it overwhelm them. People grieving a suicide have imagined the person apologizing for their action, saying it was a mistake and that they wish they could take it back. Those conversations, though difficult, have always helped the person restart their journey, recognizing that the only direction is forward, through it. In that, they have found a way to honor both their grief and the person they’ve lost.

I wish there were an easier way

To be honest, I wish there wasn’t so much pain and loss in life. But there is, and trying to deny it only makes the situation worse.

And, to those who are tempted to tell someone else to “just get over it” or that “it was just a cat” or whatever, please pause to reconsider. Hold your tongue, seek to be kind, recognize that no one chooses grief, and do your best to be there for them in whatever way they need.

Someday, they may do the same for you.

For more information, visit https://www.self.com/story/how-to-cope-with-pet-grief .

If you or someone you know needs help, call 988 for any mental health or substance use crisis.

You can also call 1-800-273-8255 for the?National Suicide Prevention Lifeline ?or?text HOME to 741-741 for support from the?Crisis Text Line . The?National Helpline for alcohol and drug abuse ?is at 1-800-662-4357. All three are free and available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, every day of the year.

Regular employees of The Standard who work at least 20 hours per week and their family members are eligible to use The Standard’s Employee Assistance Program . The EAP can help with stress management, relationships and marital counseling, parenting, and much more. All services are confidential.

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This piece is not intended as medical or legal advice. Always speak with your medical provider before initiating a diet or exercise regimen or if you have medical questions. If you have legal questions, consult with an attorney.

This article represents my own opinions as a non-physician and does not reflect the opinions or positions of my employer.