A look at Grief
I’m not really good with grieving. We never lived near any of our close relatives, and I only remember going to one funeral in my pre-teen years for a relative I didn’t know.
When I began to experience loss as an adult, I felt like I was in an unfamiliar country where I didn’t know exactly what to say or do.
Grief and Confusion
In my mid-30’s my father died. He’d had Parkinson’s disease and been in a long and slow decline for about a decade. His last days were in a hospital in Pennsylvania where it looked as though complications from Parkinson’s would soon take his life. My mother had called and said, “The doctor thinks your dad doesn’t have long.” I drove the two hours to the hospital and was surprised to find dad awake, fairly lucid and talking. We thought he’d turned the corner yet again. Along with my sister and brother, I spent a couple of days visiting with dad in the hospital. Within a few hours of leaving to return to our lives in other cities, we got a call that he had died. I later learned that this sort of end-of-life rally is quite common. Perhaps it’s a chance to say good-bye. Somewhat stunned, we all returned to Pennsylvania for the funeral and numbly went through the service. Afterwards, a line of people formed to express their condolences. I remember being puzzled at so many telling us what a great guy “Mac” was, and how funny and smart he was. It’s odd to have people you don’t know tell you about your parent, and especially when you realize that you only knew them as your parent and not as a person.
Grief Overwhelming
My mother died in her 70’s after struggling with surgery and treatment for cancer. I was in my 40’s then. My brother called and told me I needed to get to the hospital. It was an 8-hour drive from North Carolina to Pennsylvania through a December snowstorm. I will forever be thankful that my husband was at the wheel. Periodically my brother or sister would call and ask where we were. Mom was so close to the end, and they were just keeping her comfortable until I could get there. When we got to the hospital my mother was unconscious, she had been given opiates for the pain. I spent a few hours at her bedside talking to her and holding her hand and telling her I loved her. Occasionally she would grimace as if she was in pain, but the nurses assured me she was not, I like to believe they were telling the truth. Mom died that night. The well of sadness I felt was overwhelming. I remember feeling like it was hard to breath, hard to swallow and I was afraid if I started crying, I might not be able to stop.
Grief…uncomplicated
Where do our pets fit into this tale of grief? Our relationship with our pets is so much less complicated and so much more linear. We love them and they love us. There is no history of hurt or negativity. There is no drama or guilt or feeling as though conversations were left unsaid.
Recently our dog Bronco died. He was 16 years old. He was really my stepson, Jackson’s, dog. In 2007 we already had two dogs and Jackson decided he needed his “own dog”. I thought I was being especially crafty by designing a “to do” list of goals that he’d have to achieve before getting a dog. In truth I hoped they were obstacles that he wouldn’t be able to accomplish…but he did, even the last one which was to clean up the yard after the dogs at least 3 times.
So off we went to the animal shelter. At that time, it was in a small old building and when you walked in you were immediately struck by the sound and smell of animals. Dogs barking and whimpering…the smell of urine and cleaning fluids. We looked at the different cages and read off the names of the dogs. I was convinced Jackson would pick a puppy and I dreaded it, knowing I’d be the one stuck getting up in the early hours of the morning to put the dog out. I was surprised when he pointed at a young dog, not a puppy, and asked to see it. We were told Bronco was a blue heeler and seemed docile and quiet, both qualities I liked, so we put in an application for him. As we left, I queried Jackson as to why Bronco and not a puppy, “Well, Leah, I know everybody wants to adopt puppies, I wanted a dog that might not be someone’s first choice.”
A day or so later our application was accepted but we learned that Bronco was now in quarantine with kennel cough so we would have to wait a week to pick him up. We returned to the shelter a week later and instead of a subdued dog we were met by a high energy dog with a sharp and piercing bark…we hadn’t realized a sick dog is a quiet dog.
It turned out that Bronco was an Australian Stumpy Tail Cattle Dog. A herding dog and he was true to the breed. He was loathe to run with you but preferred to run behind and nip at your heels to encourage you to run faster. He became visibly stressed when our other dogs strayed too far away or left the yard and would chase after them, not to be with them but to bring them home. He could leap high in the air after balls and run like the wind …and was a “talker” with a high and sharp bark. He barked to go out, barked to come in, barked if his water dish was empty, barked when he was hungry or if another dog was in his place on the couch.
For 16 years he was part of our family. Bronco was not an affectionate licking dog. If you were lucky enough to get one lick on your hand it was a big deal. But he was so loyal. His affection for Jackson never waivered and even as an old dog, who we knew couldn’t see or hear well, it was clear that Jackson’s occasional presence was the ultimate joy for him.
In his later years, as he became more arthritic and slower, Bronco would follow me from room to room. He would sleep on the rug in my office, sometimes snoring and other times whimpering. He’d have those doggy dreams, running in his sleep, and I imagined he was after squirrels. Later in the day he’d watch me intently as I made dinner in the kitchen. If we left to take our other dog for a walk or to go out we would often look up from our driveway to our large windows and see Bronco looking down at us as if to say, ‘Where are you going? Why are leaving me behind?’
Putting him down was a hard decision but the right decision. Seemingly overnight Bronco had lost control of one of his legs and would suddenly collapse. The expression on his face was one I interpreted as confusion and embarrassment that his body was betraying him. The vet came to our house and asked if I was ready to let him go, sobbing, I nodded yes. I knew it was time to say good-bye to this aloof and yet totally loyal animal, who would never again be able to chase squirrels or retrieve his squeaky pig and who labored to walk up a short flight of stairs.
He was a good boy.
Grief, it’s a funny thing… I realize I packed away grief about my mother and father in my heart and brain because it was too complicated and uncomfortable to deal with at the time. Occasionally I’ll peer into the boxes and think about them — but only for a brief time.
I’ve learned that sorrow and death others experience, whether about a spouse, a relative, friend or pet needs to be acknowledged and not ignored. Even just a simple “I’m sorry for your loss.” is far better than saying nothing about someone’s pain and grief.