When most people euthanize a pet, they cry. Some a tiny bit, some sob hysterically, and most get choked up and quietly let the tears roll down their face as they bid a shaky goodbye. Then they pull themselves sort of together and go home, where they really let go. At least, that’s what I did. I assume most others do as well.
Then you have the next day. If you’re lucky, you have people around you who love you, who loved your pet, who understand and help you through your genuine grief. Life isn’t normal right away. Despite this, we sometimes feel that aside from our inner circle, we have to buck up and pretend it isn’t a big deal, that we aren’t consumed with thoughts of our loved one, because as much as we all (speaking mostly to the readers of this blog) as individuals love our pets, society as a whole doesn’t deem them worthy of the entire grieving process. You get maybe a day.
Mulan was euthanized on New Year’s Eve, so I had the next day off, but with Emmett, I had two more days of work to get through. Aside from Amber, who came to my house on her lunch break to do the deed and- angel that she is- had to go back for the afternoon (after all, she loved Emmett too) no one at work knew I had euthanized him until the next week because I couldn’t have made it through those days with everyone talking about it. Even in this field, we’re expected to keep a stiff upper lip and hold it together.
Being surrounded by other who acknowledge the depth of our grief is a wondrous thing. That simple act can help so much in the healing process, and it is so very sad how many people don’t have that. People who need it. I have seen people buried by grief, who came through OK because they had a supportive family, and others who come into the clinic grey eyed and deflated a week later to get their pet’s ashes, who have not.
When I was in school, I volunteered for the UC Davis Pet Loss Support Hotline. At the time it was one of only a handful of similar services, which I am happy to report is no longer the case. Many veterinary schools now offer this; in many locales, support groups have popped up through the SPCA and similar organizations for meetings and support.
We worked under the guidance of a social worker who specialized in pet support. We manned the phones and talked to sad people, most of whom just needed someone to talk to. They were desperate for their sadness to be acknowledged, for the impact of this one furry soul in the world to be validated and celebrated. We asked questions, we discussed different ways to memorialize their pet, and above all, we listened. To stories of how their pet affected them. To grievances about their vet (I learned a lot from this experience.) Their love touched me deeply.
Most of the time, this shoulder to cry on was enough to help people through the process. On occasion, a person would start talking and you would realize they were in trouble. Their depression was a little too deep, their actions a red flag even within the wide constraints of “normal” grieving. To those people, we recommended talking to a health care professional trained to deal with those situations.
The explosion of the internet has given people resources we didn’t have back then, in the form of message boards, chat rooms, and the like. People can find a vast array of online support through sites like RainbowBridge.com, which also maintains a list of pet loss hotlines. I have this list bookmarked for people, so they can find support through whatever venue is helpful for them.
I’ll open it to the floor, because I’m genuinely curious- has anyone used a hotline or a messageboard? Were they helpful? What helped you get through your sadness when you lost a beloved friend?
I’m a writer by profession, so when I lost my big baby Mickey Mouse, I wrote about him. I wrote pages upon pages of how he would roll over for a good belly rub. How he had started to get on in his years. How he had been bitten by a snake and how worried I was. I wrote and wrote and wrote. And when I was finished two and a half days later I felt like I had immortalized him in those pages. I carry them in a notebook with me, now, through moving to college and moving on. I know if I hadn’t been given the chance to simply write…I wouldn’t have been able to deal with the loss. After all, he was my baby boy. A rescue pup thrown onto our laps who quickly wiggle his way into our hearts. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
I love that you have those memories in a notebook. What a wonderful legacy. 🙂
I could never be one to answer the phone at a pet loss hotline. I’d be crying right along with the caller.
When our cat Soldier passed away from cancer it was super tough. Not only was he our only pet, but it was just so quick. We found out he was sick on Friday, he died Monday. After that, the house was just so empty and far too quite. My husbands works nights so I would be in the house alone, and that was when it was the worst. After three nights of absolute misery, my husband took me to our local rescue and told me to pick a kitten to bring home. He told me that even though we still miss Soldier so very much, he would have wanted us to do the same thing for another cat that we did for him. (We rescued him as well.) Soldier had a broken pelvis, FIV, and a horrible case of mange when we got him, and while Ava was not in such horrible shape, she definitely needed some tender love and care. She has made our house livable again. It’s never quite and when I’m home alone at night she makes the perfect companion.
The silence is the worst. Sounds like you have a very compassionate hubby. 😀
I love how many vet schools offer pet loss hotlines now. It is good not only for the people grieving, but also for the vet students, since… as you know, this is a big part of the job.
I usually do a photo memorial – both for me and for everyone who will look – to show what a cute/awesome/one-of-a-kind pet s/he was. I have also planted trees or other types of burial memorials to say goodbye.
I still have my Mulan tree in a pot in the yard. I am so terrible at gardening and petrified I’m going to kill it. Maybe I should build a bench or something.
I needed to find something for my grief as talking to my Husband was just not enough. I posted blogs for my friends to see, but of course, most of them just didn’t GET IT, so even though they felt bad for me, they just didn’t get it. My family was no support either… I didn’t even cry at the Vet’s office when we decided to let Chase go… even while my Husband sobbed during the entire thing… but as soon as we walked out the vet door….literally still on the sidewalk, I just burst out in to tears and couldn’t even walk anymore. I finally got to the car, called my mother to tell her it was over and all I got was an “Okay”. No “are you okay”? No “what can I do to help”? Nothing. That hurt, but I had to pull it together… even though she has dogs, they do not mean to her what my dogs mean to me. (and my Husband)
I did find a Yahoo Group that dealt with dogs who had Hemangiosarcoma, and that helped a bit. Writing things out in personal blogs also helped. I did call off of work the next day, as did my Husband, and I think that helped a bit too. I couldn’t go back to work right away… my boss kind of understood, but frankly I didn’t care if he did or not. We let Chase go later in the evening and I could NOT get up and go to work the next day. (I have to be at work at 6 a.m.)
I wish I had more of a support system through the situation with Chase… even finding out when he had cancer, we didn’t have much support… a lot of people looked at us like we were crazy for even giving him surgery to get rid of his spleen, full knowing he wouldn’t be with us for more than a few months. Also finding 2dogs2000miles helped a lot. It let us feel like we weren’t the only people on the planet going through this horrible cancer story with our beloved furry kid. I now wear a paw print necklace with Chase’s name on it daily. It helps a lot more than I thought it would.
Jamie, I just wanted to let you know that you’re in my thoughts. I’ve seen a few other of your replies regarding Chase. I think your Chase is my Blade. I wear a paw print teardrop pendant every day that has Blade’s hair in it. And like you, it helps a lot more than I thought it would.
Thank you Chile. Reading this blog has actually helped me a lot too, actually. Everyone who shares thier stories, helps just THAT little bit more. Even though it has been almost 7 months since Chase left us, it still feels like yesterday and I still cry randomly over it. Probably because he was MY first dog, on my own and with my Husband. My thoughts are with you as well. It is not easy losing one of our furkids, no matter how long it has been. (and I do agree with your post below as well, if we didn’t have our other two dogs, Beethoven and Akira, I would probably have lost it!)
Your Chase was definitely my Blade. He was my first born. A college graduation gift in 2000 from a breeder (he was born 11/14/2001). I had dogs growing up but they were outside dogs. I loved them but Blade was my soulmate. My strength and my companion (even when my marriage was crumbling). So I can completely understand your sadness. I cry randomly too (just passed the 2 year mark). I think certain dogs, especially our “heart” dogs are a soul that will never ever leave us because it leaves a hole in our hearts. I’d like to think that our boys are playing together, watching over us and waiting. And no telling what trouble those two are getting into. 🙂
For some reason your icon didn’t have a reply button underneath it, so I’m just replying under my other reply, lol.
Funny, Chase was my rock when my Husband and I separated for the year that we did a few years back. (we are back together now) Chase always followed me around during that time, laid at my feet or on the couch next to me, and every night he was in my bed right along with me. He could always tell when I was upset, and he was soooooo freaking smart. He knew what “Daddy is Home” meant (among a million other things) and would get up and wait at the door for my husband, and I miss that. My other two just look at me like I am crazy now when I say that, lol.
I love to think that Chase and Blade are off playing together and just getting in to nothing but trouble and are watching and waiting for us. 🙂
“Everyone who shares their stories, helps just THAT little bit more.”
So true! And I am so grateful for everyone who takes the time to come here and open their hearts.
Oh, that story sounds familiar. My mom didn’t even get me a card for Emmett. And she KNEW what he was to me. People are strange about that.
I love that you wear the pawprint every day.
I joined a bone cancer messageboard when my Lab was diagnosed. It helped to “talk” to others who loved their dogs just as much and who were going through the same thing. And when it was time to let him go, they were there talk me through that as well. Some sent cards, and one even sent a plant. Each person on that board was living my life at the time, having just lost a pet or knowing they would be soon. It also helped that I had not only my husband, but several close friends and the staff at the animal clinic where he was a patient who completely understood how deeply I loved that dog and how much it hurt to lose him. I can’t imagine going through it without the support I had at the time. The messageboard truly did help, in answer to your question.
I wish I had found a messageboard when I was going through my garbage. I think it would have been so helpful to have a *community* rallying around me.
I had my family and my friends. And my remaining Rottie. I really don’t know that I’d be here if it wasn’t for them. Because I was the person that raised a red flag.
I had my sister when I was trying to find out what was going on. She was there to go with me on a last minute trip to the specialist who was about 75 miles away. She was there to drive me the next day when I went to say good-bye. As well as two of my friends. My mother drove up that night to be with me from 5 hours away. And I had friends reach out, either through phone calls, flowers or emails. And as you already know (being one in that group) they took very good care of me. My work had met and loved Blade and I had the next two days off before the weekend started.
I couldn’t find a good outlet though. I felt like my family and friends were maybe getting tired of listening to me talk about Blade, even though no one ever expressed that. Many of them had met and loved Blade but I felt like they couldn’t understand the pain I was dealing with (because even if someone has lost a pet and knows how you feel, you still feel alone). I went to a counselor but it seemed like they glossed over the loss of my beloved Blade and instead wanted to focus on the other things going on in my life. When all I wanted to focus on was Blade.
It’s been two years. It still hurts like it was yesterday. And I’m still not through the sadness. And I’m not sure a hotline or message board would help me now, since two years has passed. I’m forever grateful for my family and friends. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about what they did for me. But not many days go by that I don’t shed tears for Blade.
Two years? I remember that phone call so vividly. 🙁
Emmett was my Blade- as you know. And you reached out more than anyone else in my life, and for that, thank you, so much.
I do too.
I just keep thinking about our boys together. I know I say it a lot but it helps to know they are watching over us. That book you sent me (Goodbye, Friend) was so much help too. I should have mentioned it yesterday but I received two books afterwards that were comforting. That one from you and my sister gave me “For Every Dog An Angel.” When I have the really tough dark moments, I’ll read excerpts from both to help me understand how to deal.
And I’m glad that I was able to help you as well because you were the person that could give me guidance and help me understand what my own vet was telling me. I wish I could fly out to SD tomorrow and give you a hug. Just because.
What people who haven’t gone through this don’t understand is the many types of emotion associated with this. There’s the pain of losing someone you love but also the agonizing feeling that you failed your little furry friend. Even though it’s usually a decision made with love and with your pet’s best interest in mind, it’s hard to look into those trusting eyes and let them go.
I was taken off-guard by the overwhelming amount of emotion I had and still have. I knew it would be difficult but not this difficult.
Both C and I have loved and lost animals but it is so different for us because Bailey was our first pet we adopted together as a couple. He grew with our unit as we went from living together to engaged to married. He was family. It was a sense of me failing him even though I know cancer (as you said) will sometimes stick up its middle finger at you and do what it wants despite your best efforts. The dentist who had to deliver the news was amazing; you could tell he doesn’t deliver this kind of news very often and him struggling with the unsuspected diagnosis actually helped us know that we weren’t the only ones blindsided and allowed himself to look vulnerable in front of us.
I had my other four pets and I’m not sure I could have gotten through without them and my husband (who was struggling the same way as me, which helped me know that I wasn’t going crazy). I had my parents. I had a few friends (like you) who had gone through it recently – or were struggling on their own with their animal’s diagnosis – and got it. I go back and read your posts once in a while and that helps. Others went out of their way to make sure I was okay. One sent tuna, mackerel and a cat toy for a kitty feast for my other cats in honor of Bailey. Others sent donations. They may have not understood on a personal level but they got that I was struggling and were doing something to acknowledge that.
I made a video photo collage of him set to what I felt was “his” song. The local SPCA has a support group once a month and by the time I was thinking of going, things started to get better to where I didn’t think I needed it. Maybe finding out it existed helped on its own, knowing that there are other people who are struggling with their own losses. I think things got better when I stopped telling myself I should or shouldn’t feel a certain way about it. I just allow it to happen and that helps.
That’s a really good point. In addition to the grief there is so much else going on- guilt, uncertainty. I feel so terribly for people who have to euthanize a pet that might have been saved with tubs of money- I mean, so few people have that these days; you can see the pain and guilt in their eyes.
With Miles, I had LiveJournal and of course, my emails back and forth with you. But outside of that? Not a whole lot. I think Alan’s parents thought we were ridiculous for being so sad about a pet and people at work, while nice, probably think I’m a crazy cat lady. To this day I still tear up randomly when I think about Miles or come across a random picture of him on my blog (the “you might like this” feature I added to typepad has been bringing up a lot of Miles posts). It’s hard but I have to keep telling myself that I loved him unconditionally as he loved me and that for the 6 years we had him, he had a happy, happy life. That sometimes helps me feel better, but I still feel the loss.
Nodding to your whole post. I hear ya, sister.
There’s another blog that I visit very regularly (tomatonation.com) and the writer is a cat owner and cat lover. I turned to her once, when I lost a loved one.
My mom and dad had 3 cats and were feeding a stray (well, more than 1 stray) who they named Hobo Joe. After about 6 months, my mom decided to bring Joe into the flock. Things went as well as they could. There was some adjustment by the other 3 boys, but all in all, it went good. And Joe was a sweetheart (and he smelled like cookies, which at the time, we thought was neat). Even though I had moved out years before, I used to go over on my lunch breaks to eat. Joe was my constant tuna-companion.
Well, after about a month, my mom took Joe back to the vet, because he was peeing everywhere. The vet then found out that Joe was severely diabetic. He said he probably always had been.
Long story short, my mom ended up having to euthanize Joe. I had only known this cat for probably 2 months, but it broke my heart into a million pieces.
That same afternoon, the writer on TomatioNation posted that her brother’s elderly cat (Karl) had passed away that same day. I wrote her a letter about Joe, and offered condolences to her brother, for Karl. She wrote back, and it really helped. Cat people know how other cat people feel.
It’s so true- while loss and grief are universal, there is so much particular to a specific type of pet- in your case, a wonderful kitty- that only others who have been there would really get. He had a wonderful time at the end surrounded by a loving family, even if only for a moment.
And, as morbid as this will probably end up sounding, that’s exactly why my mom chose to put him down when she did. He had a great month and a half, after a pretty awful and hard 7 or 8 years. She didn’t want him to end up suffering at the very end, so she made the hard choice to end his life after he’d had a chance to enjoy it, and before that changed.
I lost my old dog tony yesterday…. i am devastated …well we are, specially my mother and I . She cried so much..but i couldn´t, still can´t cry…because of my medicine, i have depression and the antidepressants don´t let me cry anymore i take a lot..
My tony wasn´t euthanized… when we woke up he was over the floor with severe convulsions…the vet gave him everything ,he was nice and he did anything possible but my old baby died…
We wrapped him in a blanket I put a camellia over his dead body and buried him in our jarden ….he was 13 years old , he was so sweet i don´t understand …saturday was so well and happy! i gave both of my dog a little piece of chocolate xD and we laugh the three of us…now is dead i cant even writte …there is a heaven for a dog right? al least i know there is a heaven for our tony. Excuse my english.
I just wanna cry! So much love… so much love ♥
P.
There is a definitely a heaven for dogs. And they all play together waiting for us all to be reunited again. I’m sorry for your loss.
i’m so, so sorry to hear about tony. this is a book that i bought when my dog died. i think you need to get it and read it. it is the kind of dog heaven that i’d like to think exists.
http://www.amazon.com/Dog-Heaven-Cynthia-Rylant/dp/0590417010/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1254770003&sr=8-1
I am so sorry to hear about Tony. Big Hugs to you!
I am so sorry for your loss, Pat. So very sorry.
My 14 year old persian Murphy stopped eating last october, went from 9.5 to 7 lbs very quickly. After 2 weeks of repeated trips to the vet, several meds, forced wet food down his throat with a syringe and sub-q fluids from a bag hanging from my ceiling, he was not getting any better. It pains me greatly that I didnt have the money for the ultrasound to know for sure what it was. We assumed cancer and because of that it seemed that i was fighting a losing battle. Needless to say, a year later I still regret not doing the ultrasound to find out if there wasnt something more we could do. I was fortunate to have people around that understood my pain. One thing I will say though, after he was gone and I was awaiting his ashes, people told me that their vet returned ashes with a surprise cast of a paw print. Banfield did not do that and I was supremely disappointed. Wish I had thought to do it myself before he had gotten sick.
I live in the country now and have the mixed blessing of “barn cats”. Ive found homes for many and have attempted to spay/neuter but a litter made its way recently. Ive brought them and mom into my home to hand raise them and find homes and to fix mom before she can go back outside. I had planned to eventually get another persian but think now that rather than choosing a new persian, a barn cat baby chose me. (Just hopefully not all 4. Anyone looking for a kitty???)
aw, little barn kitties! You’re hand raising 4? That’s a ton of work!
i have only been through this experience once and didn’t use an outside resource. my dog was one of those that for some reason attracted people. as a result, i would often bring him with me to work. all of this meant that when it was time to say goodbye there were a lot of my daily activities that were felt so empty without him there and there were a lot of people that shared my grief. while having close friends be there for me as i felt like i was falling apart helped, in the end it was really just the passage of time that helped me with my sadness. but we all live and love again, and i write this with a purring cat on my lap who tries to hold on as i throw a toy across the room for my dog to play with.
So true. Nothing dulls the sharp edges like time. But waiting for that stinks.
I had my partner, who loves his pets as much I do. I had my parents, who in the past have foregone eating so their pets could eat when times were tough. I had a few close online friends that I could talk to, and all of those people are what made it possible to pull through.
Ziggy died last November, and then my partner’s long-time cat had a heart attack in January (right after we got Chewy), and in May, the dog I grew up with at my parents’ died after a long battle with lung and bone cancer. Bad things happen in threes.
I talked about them, a lot. I wrote about them in my blog, I went through pictures of them and remembered the first times with them. I’ve talked about Ziggy on here before, but I’ll tell you about Baby.
We’d lost our previous dog, Minx, and it was a huge blow for everyone, but it hit my stepdad the hardest. His pets are his life, and he didn’t know how to function anymore. His best friend was gone, and we all felt the loss, but we had no idea how to help him. He was so depressed. For months he was like a zombie.
Finally, in desperation, my mom asked him to come grocery shopping with him. They went to the SPCA instead. He didn’t want another dog, couldn’t handle the loss again he said. But as soon as they walked into the dog area, he fell in love again. There she was, this enormous “Rotti/Black Lab” they’d called her, and her name was Suzy.
My mom used to be terrified of big dogs, but as soon as she saw those droopy eyes, her heart melted and she went right into the cage. My stepdad sat down on the kennel floor, and she got into his lap and kissed his face. The funk that he’d been living in for the past few months immediately disappeared, and he’d found a soulmate in this new dog.
They came and got me, to make sure I liked her too before they adopted her, and we went home to brainstorm ideas for her name. My mom offered Baby as a suggestion, and it just seemed so fitting for her. A few days later, we had our wonderful new dog. All my friends came over to meet her, she was the kindest and most gentle dog they’d ever seen before.
Everybody who ever met Baby fell in love with her, she just had one of those personalities. She was so happy, and cute, and you couldn’t help but bend down and hug this massive dog.
Our first week with her, my stepdad and I came home at the same time. We walked through the door, and what was left of our couch was all over the living room floor. And there she was with a bit of couch fuzz hanging out of her mouth, head cocked to the side, tail thumping against the hardwood floor. We absolutely died with laughter.
My mom wasn’t so amused when she got home, the couch was one thing, but I guess Baby had eaten all her silk flowers too. Of course, she couldn’t stay mad, not at that face, but then we kennel trained her. A few years later my parents brought home this pee-smelling bundle of fluff, and Baby’s new “little sister” was added tot he family. A coyote/border collie/rottweiler cross named Bear.
Baby was with us for 11 years, and we figure she was about 3 years old when we got her. She slowed down in her old age. She got deathly sick while I was in Parry Sound for my grandpa’s funeral, and I rushed home to be with her. She had pneumonia, and we later found out she also had lung cancer. My stepdad was damn near hysterical.
One of his bosses, who was a really great guy, offered to give Baby these experimental drugs that shrink tumours. Willing to try anything at this point, we accepted; Baby’s lung cancer went away, she made a full recovery, it was an absolute miracle.
2 years later, bone cancer set in on her, and this time she was just too tired to fight. I had moved away shortly after Baby’s miraculous recovery, because Drew’s dad was dying of cancer, and we wanted to be there for him. I didn’t get to go back and see Baby again, and I regret it so much. She gave my stepdad that look, you now the look. “I love you, but it’s time.” We all cried together, and my stepdad clings to his other dog, Bear, now. But Bear is almost 9 years old, and I really worry about how they’ll handle things if she gets sick too.
Baby was such a big part of my life, and just like with Ziggy, I cry about her as well. Of course, my family and friends loving Baby so much, we all grieved together, and it really helped.
Here’s Baby, this was the day before she died.
http://i165.photobucket.com/albums/u78/Tassiaw/HappyBaby.jpg
Wow, what an amazing story. 2 years with lung mets? Astounding! The couch story made me laugh- and how indicative of these loving furballs that even the day before she left, she was smiling. What a beautiful girl.
Oh wow, she had a beautiful perfect doggie smile! I’m so sorry for the loss of Baby (for you and your family). And I’m sorry for the loss of your beloved Ziggy as well. Baby sounds like she was an incredible canine friend to have, couch-eating aside. 🙂
When my childhood pup, Hurley passed, I actually wasn’t told for three months. He lived with my father, who I am not on speaking terms with, and because of the severe depression I was in at the time, no one thought it wise to tell me he passed. Once I found out, I guess I became on of the “red flag” grievers because Hurley had been the only being I could talk to about a lot of problems. I found temporary solace in talking with my therapist who had also lost her pup. But what really helped was just talking to other dog people because they just got it. Even if they hadn’t experienced loss, just knowing that there are others who cared so deeply about their various animals made me feel okay. This blog has definitely been a big help, and I am always thankful when entries like these are posted.
I agree, give me an untrained dog lover over a trained non-pet loving therapist any day!
http://www.petloss.com/
I found the websight above when I lost my whippiet mix Tina several years ago. I found a great comfort in the candle ceromony. It takes place on Monday night at 10:00 eastern time. There is just something comforting in sharing grief at the exact same time as others from around the world who are hurting. You can do it in private (as I did) or share it with your family. For as long as you need until you can let go and let it be enough to smile at the good memories and the knowledge that they are waiting for you until you cross.
I love the idea of a candle ceremony every week. What a beautiful thing. Thank you for sharing that.
http://myspyderweb.blogspot.com/2009/10/willow-xander-heart-ache-healing.html
I started putting the different links to posts that hubby & I had put on our blogs about losing Willow. I decided to make a post of them on my blog. That way I would have them listed in order in one spot. There’s photos on the post. Also there is a dog food drive in her memory for the Pet outreach with the Spay Neuter KC. The blogs & the friends I have on Twitter helped my husband and myself. But the biggest help has been Xander. There are so many similarities between the two dogs. It must be Dane things.
I couldn’t even finish reading these stories because it left me in tears. I think at times I can give something of a stony-faced impression, and I’ve certainly sat through those grief-stricken times with owners as they’ve sent their animals away to a better place, but being in the position I am, I have not had to euthanize many pets myself. The last dog I euthanized had no owner, had no one to look out for it, and had been run over by a car. I was pretty sure her back was broken, and her hind end was paralyzed. She was skin and bones. Richard and I sat there and cried together as I sent her away.
I think about my childhood kitty, Mary. I lost her before vet school. I was living here, but she had stayed with my mother back in Texas because I felt it was probably too traumatic to be moving around a 17-year-old cat to other states. The morning of the day she died, I woke up from a nightmare in which she was prostrate before me, salivating, convulsing, and about to die. I called my mother that afternoon and told her about the nightmare, and which point she assured me Mary was fine and was sitting right next to her showing no signs of illness whatsoever. Later that night, my nightmare came true.
I will never, ever, forget that experience. I am not one of those people that believes heavily in the paranormal. I don’t know what happened there. I was traumatized by it. I spent hours upstairs at Christine’s house, talking through what had happened. She was the most patient listener I’ve ever encountered. As you might remember, I lost her last Christmas. In my mind, Mary and she are connected somehow, because she was the friend I needed to help me through that grief. I miss her, too.
My gosh I had no idea there were any services out there for us grieving dog parents. I lost the love of my life in May, my Doberman Martha Anne. I seriously thought I would NEVER get over it. Almost 6 months later the gripping grief has lessened a bit but I still cry for her every day. I am glad to know there are such services available, but with a 6 month old Boston Terrier (who was supposed to be her baby sister), I hope to have many years to go before I need it.
I’m bracing myself for it again. I’ve been think about everyone’s posts, and I just got off the phone with my mother about the cat who was my 13th birthday present years ago.
My parents and I lost our family dog this past April. We let her go to play in doggie heaven 3 days after my grandmother, my mom’s mother, past away on Easter. Thankfully we have a wonderful vet who came to my parent’s house to euthanize her. Having worked as a vet tech in the past, I knew what to expect. It was so hard seeing my parents experience it. Although I no longer live at home, she was my dog too. She was my girl. I miss her terribly. It’s so difficult to go their house now and not see her there. My mom was hit hard. I wish I could mourn with her, but she’s still not there. Luckily I found the donut picture of your Emmett, Dr. V, and then your blog. I have found solace in everyone’s common experiences.
Unfortunately, it’s happening again. My first cat, Romeo, is going through kidney failure. When I went away to college he stayed home with my parents. Much to my chagrin, they insisted on keeping him. Now he is essentially their little man. He’s 16 and holding on with constant antibiotics — happy and eating, tossing his toy rats about. I know I should just enjoy the time he has left, but I can’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop.