This morning, I found this message in my inbox.
I write a lot about the angry and broken people online, but I also receive messages that are touching, appreciative, stimulating, and thought-provoking.
I get a lot of material for the blog online and a lot of ideas. I am grateful for those messages. The one I got this morning was one of those.
“Diane here. I met you when you (on a book tour when you came to WI to promote your children’s book, “Meet the Dogs of Bedlam Farm.” I am continually inspired by your common sense living-with-dogs philosophy. When you came, our family had just gotten a new puppy from a shelter, an eight-month-old corgi named Simon. Now, years later, we are faced with a cancer diagnosis and a decline that is happening shockingly quickly. We’ve been through this before with beloved pets, and in fact, have also lost a child equally quickly. So moving through loss and grief is nothing new. However, all my efforts to practice radical acceptance are failing me, and I’m drowning in sadness — my husband and I both are. We’ll get through it, and we will love another dog, and probably another and another, but it feels so damned awful right now. I’m reaching out for … I don’t know, words of comfort or something fortifying. Thanks for listening.”
I appreciate Diane’s faith in me. I wrote back and told her I would write about her letter on the blog today and share my thoughts then. I can’t personally answer every message like that.
I am not often associated with common sense in my life, but I take it as a compliment, and I thank Diane for it.
But I am truly sorry, this is not a task I should ever believe I can take on or perform well. Wisdom is knowing what I can’t do as well as what I can do.
I get a lot of messages like Diane’s, the grief people feel for their dogs is profound, and rarely given the weight and attention it deserves. It is quite often debilitating and nearly unbearable.
If you love a dog, you will lose a dog, and more than once, that’s the deal. Dogs don’t live as long as we do, or as long as we might wish. I am stymied by letters like Diane’s.
I think I have a realistic sense of myself and the limits of me. I am no Daila Lama, seer, shrink, or guru. If I could make people’s grief go away, I’d have a lot more money in the bank than I do. And I would not wish to earn a living telling people things they must learn to do for themselves.
I don’t have the power Diane is investing me, that is a much higher power than common sense.
Grief is individual, personal; no two people grieve the same way; there is no known magic, cure, or wisdom for comfort or fortification when a good dog dies. Any author or pundit who claims otherwise is lying or drowning in hubris. I don’t wish to be a person who claims he can banish grief.
Diane has lost a child, as I have, and so we both know in our hearts, there is no shortcut around grief like that, not for a child, not for a dog.
My sense of perspective warns me never to compare a child to a dog, or a dog to a child; they are not the same thing, ever. Don’t try to tell the mother or father of a lost child that losing a dog or cat is the same thing.
It is comforting to me to remember that almost every human on the planet has lost something precious – a mother, father, dog, donkey, child, home, peace of mind, health, sight, even their lives.
Nothing I suffer is worse than what everyone else suffers. Pain is inevitable; suffering is a choice. Death is a part of life I can’t hide from or run away from.
When I lost my children, I came to understand I will be grieving for them for the rest of my life. It does get easier over time, but not all that much. None of the many shrinks I have seen fortified me against this loss. No pill made it more comfortable; no guru made it go away.
When I lose a dog, I feel differently. As I have written, I would rather love a dog than mourn a dog. We can’t get another child in that way; we can get another dog. I love dogs so much I want to love them again when one dies.
So I get another one as soon as I feel strong and ready.
I’m not telling Diane to do that, that is my approach. When a dog of mine is diagnosed with cancer, I put them down almost instantly, as a steward I won’t let the dog suffer, as a dog lover, I also won’t let me suffer beyond what is reasonable and appropriate.
I do find it troubling that Diane turned to me rather than a mental health professional if her grief is debilitating.. I am not one of those by any stretch.
I don’t know if Diane’s grieving is so severe that she needs help. I don’t know her at all. I do remember losing a beloved pet can be devastating and ought to be taken seriously, according to a thoughtful article in Scientific American:
Losing a beloved pet is often an emotionally overwhelming experience. Yet as a society, we do not recognize how painful pet loss can be and how much it can impair our emotional and physical health. Symptoms of acute grief after the loss of a pet can last from one to two months, with signs of grief persisting up to a full year (on average). The New England Journal of Medicine reported in October 2017 that after her dog died, a woman experienced “broken heart syndrome”—a condition in which the response to grief is so severe the person exhibits symptoms that mimic a heart attack, including elevated hormone levels that can be 30 times greater than normal.
The woman’s response to her dog’s death does not sound healthy to me, and for me, it is over any acceptable and appropriate boundary for appropriate animal grieving. I hope she got help.
Still, and since people ask me, I will say it is essential to keep my perspective, in this and all things. I have lost many beautiful and beloved pets. They will die just as I will die, and my parents died, and Maria will die, and everyone reading this will die.
It is not, for me, only morbid, although it is certainly sad. It is the very meaning of life.
We don’t need to like it, but it can’t be argued away or dismissed.
And finally, I want to say something about radical acceptance, a way of looking at life that has become important to me. Radical acceptance is not about never feeling pain, loss, or grief. Radical acceptance is about feeling pain, injury, or grief and accepting it as a part of my life and everyone else’s life. It is not shocking to me when a dog or a human dies. I know we will all die. I respect and accept life; I do not fight it or seek to transform it.
Radical Acceptance does not mean there is no awful suffering.
My wonderful dog Red died a few months ago, as everyone knows, I celebrate every day of his life with me, and give thanks for the gift of him in my life. Is that common sense? I can’t say.
Radical acceptance is about accepting life on life’s terms and not resisting what you cannot or refuse to change. Radical acceptance is about saying yes to life, just as we experience it.
The last thing Red’s good soul would ever want would be for me to be devastated by his death; he wanted nothing more than to please me, serve me, be with me. I will honor that. I had my heart attack; it was not over as joyous an experience of having a dog. I believe dogs make my heart stronger and healthier.
I will not ever turn the loss of a beautiful pet into a travesty or life-shattering experience. In my personal spiritual philosophy, I think it is a great disservice to the history and nature of the human-dog bond to grieve for animals beyond reason, causing us pain is not what dogs are about. For me, extreme grieving breaks my very personal contract with dogs.
I will not ever turn loving and losing a dog into a misery; it is so much more than that.
So, I’m sorry, Diane, I have no magic wand to make grief and suffering go away. If the pain of losing Simon is so deep and debilitating that it interferes with life, then I would hope people get help from a professional vastly better trained and prepared to help than I am.
My own belief, cold and impersonal to some, but important to me is that pain is not an option, it is inevitable. Our choice is how to deal with it.
I am sorry to not be able to give Diane what she wants, but I do hope my experience can be helpful to someone out there. It is from the heart.
I loved my last dog, Misty, very much and was undoubtedly very sad when we had to put her sleep. However, it wasn’t long before I came to focus on the good life we had given her and it was a much more positive, even nice, feeling.
And it does help to get another dog before too much time goes by. This is what Misty would have wanted, i.e., not to leta good home go to waste when another dog could benefit.
Your book, Going Home helped me get through the loss of my Border Collie a few years ago. I have given copies away and recommended it to numerous friends grieving the loss of their pet. Thank you for sharing your gift and helping others. Peace and love.
I have lost my child and just lost another dog, one I loved fiercely. I am so sorry for your loss but I hope you can get grievance therapy. I grieved for about six months and am finally letting go. Your pup wants to be free now to dance in the fields of butterflies and other pets at the Rainbow Bridge. I know Jon would not believe any of that but helped me find peace.
It doesn’t get much better said than that..
Mr Katz’s statement that it is comforting to know others survived similar loses resonated with me. My husband died almost a decade ago, a relatively young man. It was horrifyingly awful in so many ways and for such a long time.
Every single day I would tell myself that thousands of women had become widows and survived. I will too and I did. My dog got me out of bed in the morning and out the door for a walk. I owe a lot of my grief recovery to having him in my life.
He is now almost 14 years old and clearly aging. I am determined when the time comes to remember it’s not about me, it’s about what he needs. I’m also determined to get another dog after he passes. Silly as it might sound I like to think that’s what my dog would tell me to do.
Diane I think your dog probably loved you and your husband as much as you loved him. That’s the way it usually works. Why wouldn’t he want you to be happy? Feeling deep sadness is normal but a more than fair trade for all the joy and happiness you had while he was in your life. Take care.
You are wise and loving Marge…
I think Diane needed to vent to someone who has been there. The eloquent descriptions of loss and redemption can be like a hug you may not know you offer.
When I lose a dog I am sad but I also know that my dog lived a long life I gave them what so many dogs never get and with that I take comfort. My dogs never know hunger or being too hot or cold they come with me when ever I can take them in my travels they sleep in my bed I try to make their life as fulfilling as possible with toys and playing with them. I know They won’t out live me and for that I am grateful because with so many dogs in need of homes who is going to give my dog the home they deserve. I once lost a dog that got out he was small and got through the fence and I never saw him again he had tags on but no one ever called. I grieved over this dog for a long time my hope was someone just kept him. I would think about parents who lose a child from abduction and I can’t imagine the nightmare they must live everyday not knowing where their child is. I never had children so I used that analogy that yes losing my dog that way was terrible but what if it was a child. Getting another dog is not replacing one it’s having a new friend to share my life and getting to know this dog’s way of thinking, and behaving and training it so I can share them with the world I live in.
Been going through it for over a year for my Sadie, and for 3 years when my Buster “went home”. Hard, very hard. Now trying to get off the meds that I used to help with my grief.
Thank you, Jon. Your comments are helpful to me and many more, I’m sure.
In Diane’s message I feel a cry for help that I once felt myself. Having never lost a child, I cannot begin to compare the grief I carried with hers. Each person’s pain is their own. But when my cat Panther died I reacted as I feel Diane is reacting. It was too much. When the day came, a friend drove us to the vet and I felt, honestly, that I wanted to die as well. The only thought that kept me going was that I had other beloved cats that needed me. After Panther died I came unraveled. I could not stop crying. I would force myself to stop but then something would remind me and the tears would start once more. I knew it was inappropriate to be reacting this way but telling myself so only made matters worse. I cried for Panther every day for eighteen months. Over time the period of weeping grew smaller but the grief remained. I should mention that I was in therapy when all this happened and I spent many tearful hours with two different therapists. I am not sure how I would have managed without their support.
Then one day, as I looked out my window I saw a young, stray cat looking back at me. Normally, when you trap a cat, they protest. They try to flee. She did not. She crept into my lap and began to purr. I murmured to her “Panther sent you, didn’t he?” It’s a lovely notion. Maybe there is something in it. I don’t pretend to know how the Universe works, but after that I started to feel better and then I was able to look back on the great out-pouring of grief I had experienced over my little black cat. I realized then that it wasn’t all about Panther. Of course I was heart broken to lose him. But pets leave us. If you own pets, as Jon says, it’s part of the deal. But Panther’s death for some reason triggered the release of a whole river of grief that had been dammed up inside me for many years. Tears I had never shed when I had other losses because then I was afraid to let myself feel, for fear I should lose myself.
I don’t know if there may be any help in this for Diane. I always benefited from reading other people’s experiences, including yours, Jon. Other people’s stories always made me feel less alone in my pain.
There is no wrong way to feel. You just need to acknowledge it for what it is and keep moving forward to what comes next. That is what life is. Lots of pain and lots of joy. Without one you cannot know the other.
In my humble opinion.
Jon, I think this is one of the finest posts of yours that I have read. Like you, I cannot know what is in Diane’s head, but I imagine your response was just what she was looking for. She seemed to be sharing her grief in a way to help reduce its awful intensity. your thoughtful response does that for me as I contemplate various situations of grief that I have experienced. I hope that she had some easing of pain from your thoughtful kindness as well.
Excelent words, Jon. No one can know another’s grief. All grief is truly unique. We put our 13 year old dog, Emily, down almost a year ago due to progressive kidney failure. We adopted her when our kids were 8 and 11. She was truly a member of our family and so bonded to all of us. My husband took an ex-pat assignment at his job from 2013-2015 and we even moved her across the ocean and back. Living overseas was a difficult transition for me with a lot of time on my hands as well as leaving my oldest at college in the U.S. Emily saved my sanity during that time. It was so hard on me when she died. I came to realize that some of my grief was rooted in what the end of Emily’s life signified…..the transition of my children to fully independent adults and a smaller, quieter household. (My daughter had been married a year and my son was about to graduate from college at the time of her death.) I certainly loved Emily so much and she was the smartest and most intuitive dog I have ever known, but her existence was also tied to the family we were when we had children in the house and more a part of our every day life. I am getting on now and coping with the change. I feel like extreme grief is often about more than the obvious reasons which is why professional is needed sometimes. I hope Diane finds some peace. Thanks for your sharing your thoughts, Jon. It is helpful to a lot of people.
Beautifully put. One of my dogs is aging quickly. He is limping due to arthritis, and I am hoping the prescribed medication from the vet kicks in soon. He also has anxiety, which is getting worse as he ages. Luckily, he is allowed to come to work with me and snooze away on his dog bed while I work. However, I am starting to “pre-grieve” for him. Honestly, this started when he turned (estimated) 13 in August. I have never had a dog live to 14. Now, I am trying to give him the best life possible, “throw everything at” his arthritis and pain, and hope that I can be strong enough to recognize the time when it comes. He has been with me for the past 11.5 years, and we have gone through a lot of life changes together. We have been each other’s constant. There will be a large void when he is gone, even though he’s only 11 pounds.