why you’re grieving your pet so deeply
You don’t get to choose what cracks you open.
For those of us blessed with close animal relationships, the answer to the question of “why are you grieving so deeply” is so painfully obvious, it doesn’t even arise. A better question is: why wouldn’t we?
Before Moxy entered my life, I didn’t know how quickly, how deeply, I could love another being. I didn’t know what it felt like to be unconditionally loved and accepted on a daily basis until he came along. So, it stood to reason that experiencing the loss of him would be devastating, that my life as I knew it would be upended. And yet I was still caught off-guard by the ferocity of my grief.
I’m betting you can relate.
Consider all the quiet, ordinary, “mundane” moments of your life—all the time spent binge-watching Netflix on the sofa, going down social media rabbit holes on your phone, working on your laptop, paying bills, reading, using the bathroom, cooking dinner—your animal companion has been right beside you, bearing witness and keeping you company. They’ve greeted you in the morning (sometimes before you’re even ready to wake up), when you’ve returned from a long day at work or running errands, and when you’ve closed your eyes at night. No other being is as woven into your daily rhythms, patterns, and routines. It’s a uniquely grounding presence you come to rely on.
In fact, it’s highly likely that, cumulatively, you’ve spent more time with your furry familiar than anyone else in your life—and this relationship has even outlasted more than a few human relationships. The familiarity, loyalty, and constancy adds to the depth of your bond; plus, your more-than-human relationship simply doesn’t carry the emotional baggage and complexity of your human ones, making it infinitely easier to express and receive affection, as well as show your vulnerability.
“For some people, the death of a pet may represent the greatest loss they have ever encountered.”
In his book, Goodbye, Friend, Reverend Gary Kowalski explains that one loss accentuates others, and any loss can open old wounds, including the loss of a cherished pet. “Depending on their situation, some people will be harder hit than others. Those who live alone or who have no dependents, for example, may be especially affected.” People who have experienced trauma or struggle to form bonds with other people are also particularly vulnerable.
Additionally, psychotherapist Wallace Sife, PhD, in his book, The Loss of a Pet, highlights the many benefits and pleasures of keeping animal companions in our lives, which can further exacerbate the grief we experience when we lose them:
“They give us innocent dependence, companionship, and pure love—and are totally accepting and never judgmental…People who do not have companion animals have no idea what they are missing…They give us back a devotion that is unmatched by any other relationship, in a very private bond. Pets provide us with an oasis of unqualified love and acceptance in an otherwise demanding and critical world.”
And it’s not only the unconditional love you share with your best friend that makes your goodbye totally unbearable, but also the tremendously healing atmosphere of total acceptance and dissolution of boundaries you experience with them. It’s pretty much impossible not to draw comfort from hugging or petting their warm body, feeling their solidity, receiving their version of kisses, or seeing them delight in your presence and attention. It’s likewise nearly impossible not to derive joy from seeing their joy, or laugh freely at their silly antics, or marvel at their capacity for play, for taking pleasure in the simplest things, for seeing the world with fresh eyes, for being so unapologetically themselves.
Who hasn’t wished, at some point, they could be as easily pleased, as innocently happy, as free from worry, as their pet?
Sometimes, when I’m lying with Teddy on the sofa (in one of the rare moments he lets me cuddle him) and we’re comfortable, and warm, and sleepy, and his little nose is tucked under my arm, I’ll think: this is it. This is all I need. Right now, this moment is complete as it is. I don’t need anything else to feel perfectly content with my life. Listening to his exhales, feeling his soft fur, breathing in his Teddy-scent. My little piece of heaven tucked right in beside me.
It’s a moment I wish I could extend into eternity—just let me stay here a little longer, please. But I know that’s not possible. The most I can do is open as fully to it as I can, and not be so terrified to feel joy, even when I know what’s coming.
“And it is exceedingly short, his galloping life. [Pets] die so soon….It is almost a failure of will, a failure of love, to let them grow old—or so it feels. We would do anything to keep them with us, and to keep them young. The one gift we cannot give.”
Love doesn’t distinguish between species, and therefore neither does grief. Love doesn’t operate according to a hierarchy or get meted out by degrees. We bring these creatures into our homes and hearts, and in return, they give us everything. Nothing is held back. It’s only natural then for love’s shadow, grief, to match the depth of this connection and reflect the truth of our hearts when our animal companions are no longer physically with us. We don’t question our love when they’re alive, so why would we question our grief when they’re gone?
We grieve deeply because we love deeply. Neither should ever be questioned.
How deep is your grief? Please share with us.
