When Martha, Sylvia’s twin died in the middle of the night, we were all shocked. Joel felt terrible for me and I was inconsolable, not having been with her. She was with her sister and I would like to believe that gave Martha some comfort as she crossed.
Grieving for a pet is not the one-day affair some feel the process is or should be. In fact, grieving for our beloved pets is grieving. Grief is not issued in measurements like a cake recipe. Grief is not comparable. Grief is grief. Love is love. These are our emotions and we need to own them, express them, and honor them. We need to let them pass through us and accept that they should have an impact, they should be sacred.
Grief does not go away, but we can reach a moment in time when the grief steps aside and allows the bittersweet taste of memories to break through. We can, for that moment, relish in the presence of our lost loves and feel their warmth and comfort and love. We are able to remember our losses, not so much with tears—although, tears may always flow—but with joy for the time we shared.
When my kitties died while I lived in New York, my vet would call me to express sympathies and, when I came in, would hug me and pet my hair while I sobbed through my loss. My vet in Virginia writes me notes, lovely notes. He talks to me about my loss and tells me how he hopes I can remember what a wonderful life I gave my pets and the happiness they gave me. He always writes that his hope is, one day, that I will think of them with joy.
After we lost Glowy and Martha in the space of a few months, Sylvia was alone and spent her days always by my side, expelling dander, which had never happened before. I spoke to my veterinarian in Virginia, who said she was depressed; grieving. My New York veterinarian agreed. They both—independently—gave me the exact same advice: Get two sibling baby kitties. They will run around and she will watch them, will care for them, and will be in the coveted Alpha spot. She will heal. You both will heal. It had been a difficult time and both men knew it and they both helped me through it in their ways.
I mulled my vets’ advice for a time. I couldn’t go through these losses any longer. But neither Sylvia nor I were getting to that place to which we hoped to return. Both my vets have laughed at me every time I say that I won’t ever get another pet. They are right to laugh. I cannot seem to stop myself. They both were right when they said I would have a hole in my heart that only a pet could fill.
Again, they were right. They know human nature; animal nature, and they are very clear on who I am. They have seen me laughing, crying, panicked, relieved. I’ve caused some of their staff to cry with me. They get me. And with me and my tribe—no matter how large or small—that is very key to my sanity.
Tune in next time. Until then, The Tribe and I wish you love, joy, and health. We hope you consider: Are you the rescuer or the rescued?
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