Perspectives bu Karen Reed Hadalski

My friend, Chris, recently lost her best friend of ten years and is inconsolable. “Scruffy,” a Benji-like stray, was found wandering the railroad tracks. Chris saw his photo in the Sunday paper and fell in love, immediately. From the moment she brought him home, Scruffy became her ardent admirer, diligent protector, and constant companion. Wherever she went, whatever she did, whomever she did it with; her pup was right by her side.

When she told me of Scruffy’s death, Chris was open and honest about the depth of pain and grief she was suffering. Yet, she also confided that she felt guilty about these emotions, as she has never experienced quite the same kind of distress at the death of a human being. She felt the need to be very careful about whom she shared her feelings with, as she had learned from past experience that only those who had enjoyed similarly close relationships with a pet would understand and be capable of empathy. Everyone else would think she is a little crazy for grieving so deeply over the loss of an animal.

Many of my friends have expressed these same emotions and concerns. My first such experience came with the death of Sheba. A gift to me when in my 20’s, Sheba was the first cat I ever knew; so, I treated her like a dog. She went everywhere with me. When a small kitten, she rode on my shoulders. As she grew, she followed along or walked on a leash. She traveled with me on trains, planes, busses, and subways. She romped with me in the snow, played “fetch,” and loved autumn when she could play hide-and -seek in the crisp, colorful leaf mounds. Together, we moved numerous times as I went from college and graduate school to various jobs, apartments, and room mates; then, from a first marriage, to a divorce, and into a second marriage. Sheba was the one constant in my life-- from my 20’s, through my 30’s, and well into my forties. She was my confidant, my friend, my child, and a measureless source of comfort and delight. I knew I would miss her when she died, but had no idea how bitter, intense, and long-lasting my grief would be. And, like Chris, I found that while many were able to understand and empathize, others did, indeed, view me as a little “off center” for being so devastated at the loss of a pet-- a cat, at that. Sheba was my first loss; but, since then, I have lost two dogs and three cats--and it never gets easier.

What is it about animals and our relationship with them that evokes such an intense level of grief at their loss? There is something different about the kind of affection we experience with our pets. While the term “unconditional love” is bandied about with regard to human relationships, I know very few people who have ever been lucky enough to actually experience it--except, perhaps, from their very young children. Whereas, with human-animal connections, it’s the norm. Whether you are looking your best or your ugliest; are in a good mood or a rotten mood; are being patient, kind, and playful or curt, nasty, and dismissive; your pet only sees your best Self, excuses every slight, forgives every unkindness, and adores you through it all. Your animal companion is adamant and undivided in his fierce loyalty and heartfelt devotion to you. No one could ever take your place--not ever. The communication we have with our pets is principally telepathic and the only method by which accurate empathy can be achieved. Sure, animals can understand certain words, phrases, signals, and sounds. But, in my opinion, language is highly overrated. Words are often misunderstood and rarely adequate to convey the fullness of an emotion, the complexity of an idea, or the depth of a regret. Can you imagine what a different place this world would be if we could convey and receive the same sympathetic understanding with each other as we do with our pets? Animals are healers. They perceive when we are in emotional or physical pain and instinctively know just the right thing to do to soothe and lift us up. Therapy animals can bring Alzheimer’s patients into the present and Autistic children out of their emotional cocoon and into the world. They can lift us out of depression, calm anxiety, and bring hope and a reason for living to the hopeless. Just by offering their bodies to be stroked or hugged, animals can lower a person’s blood pressure and heart rate.

Our pets are an ever-present wellspring of love, light, acceptance, and constancy. They make us feel valued, respected, necessary, and important. And, when they die, this all goes away--in an instant. So, don’t ever feel guilty about the level of despair you experience at the loss of a pet. Only the most callous and unappreciative among us could feel otherwise. But, don’t expect someone who hasn’t “been there” to understand what you are going through, either. They won’t have a clue.

(If you do lose a beloved pet and have no people in your life with whom you feel comfortable sharing your feelings, there are grief therapists specially trained in the area of “Pet Bereavement.” You can locate one in your area by contacting either a veterinary school or clinic.)

Karen Reed Hadalski is a freelance writer living in Virginia Beach.

She can be contacted at karenhadalski@netscape.net