Leadership Lessons from the Loss of a Pet

This article includes discussion of pet death and grief.?

His name was to have been Cappuccino.

His speckled fur was a mix of brown, black and white and, in my sleep-deprived days of parenting young children, I thought he looked like a cozy and warm coffee drink. I proposed the name to my daughters.?

“But we don’t even drink coffee!” the older girl complained, five years old at the time. So a compromise was made: Sparkaccino, with the daily name of Sparky.

After ten years of laughs at his curmudgeonly ways; cuddles with his soft self; nearly daily runs all over DC; and apoplectic barking fits when the mail carrier approached, Sparky passed away last Thursday, March 2nd. To be more precise, he was diagnosed with an abdominal tumor on Wednesday night, and we euthanized him within 24 hours as we watched his body deteriorate before our eyes.?

It was a challenging moment, as my husband was out of the country and my parents were visiting from Texas, to support me and the household as I prepared for my first board meeting at USA for UNHCR . And yet, as with all challenging moments, the courage and beauty that emerges is literally jaw dropping. I kept turning over these observations and reflections in my mind, and decided to share them as a way to process my grief and to thank Sparky, yet again, for all he taught me and my family.?

First, you can’t always create the perfect circumstance in the moment, but it’s never too late to make room for reflection and connection. The night he was dying, we were in a state of denial and low-level panic. I tried to collect myself, on the floor of the examination room at the vet hospital, and support the girls in a moment of tender memories and goodbyes. But truthfully, the room was sterile and cold; Sparky was already disoriented and distant with pain; and we were torn between a need to process what was happening and accommodate his comfort.

I told my daughters, in a moment of quiet clarity, that we would say what we could in this moment… and that we would reconvene, with dad by our side, and dedicate proper time to reflect on Sparky’s impact on and contribution to our family. I worried I was failing them, in the moment of crisis, by being unable to stop the clock and create some magic space of peace and thoughtful tranquility. And then I refocused and ensured his comfort while promising the girls a time and space to revisit. I even said as much so they would know I was torn between competing needs and priorities but that I wasn’t forgetting about our collective yearning for tenderness and gratitude.???

Second, life happens fast... and you have to adjust to a new reality while still honoring what was and still is. For example, Sparky’s brother Bean still needs a daily walk– and the well-trodden sidewalks of my neighborhood painfully remind me of Sparky at every turn. The mail carrier thought we were on vacation– I mean, how else to explain the absence of the whirling dervish?-- and I had to share news that was so deeply personal with a woman I had encountered only as my mail carrier before that moment. She clutched her heart and tears welled in her eyes. Turns out he was a beloved fixture on her route.?

I still say “the dogs”, plural. I keep referring to Bean as Sparky. I haven’t touched his food bowl or dog bed and yet… he is gone, and I can’t be in denial about that. “I just walked him on Sunday…” I’ll say to anyone who will listen, and yet time marches on. A new reality, without forgetting the past that made us who we are.??

Third, people want to love and help you. I am awestruck by this, and I’m almost 50 years old. My daughters are gobsmacked by it. The endless cookies and baked goods. The messages on social media. The cards in the mail, the text messages, the coffee dates where I shed tears on a ratty café couch. People step up and it demands courage from those who are suffering to accept the help, to be embraced, to say “thank you” and “that’s just what we needed.” I have been humbled by the gestures of generosity, by the words of admiration, by the solidarity in grief that we feel as humans.?

Lastly, the lesson of dignity and how your team– my family in this instance– can surprise you with their capacity. My older daughter is an animal lover. The girl who cried when even a roach was stomped in the basement. Who never felt right about collecting lightning bugs in a jar. Who loves the zoo and yet feels a sense of dread when she witnesses caged animal syndrome. She has often said she wants to be a vet, but could never be for all the suffering that vets must bear witness to. And yet, here she was.??

In those sad and most traumatic moments last week, with Sparky succumbing to the illness, her focus was on his dignity– how we could keep him clean in his final moments of life. How we could keep him as calm as possible while he experienced a complete failure of his physical systems. The emotional intelligence she exhibited was so rare and so mature that I felt grateful to Sparky for conjuring this in her. To prove to her she could hold her nose, wipe him up, trim his tail fur, and make him comfortable… as many times as was required, and without any need for credit, praise or reward.? ? ?

In closing, the lesson of impermanence that all death teaches us, but particularly the unexpected death of a creature so young:

“Some people, sweet and attractive, and strong and healthy, happen to die young. They are masters in disguise teaching us about impermanence.” –The Dalai Lama XIV