Grief, Love, and the Space Dogs Leave Behind
All pets die. To lose a pet is to lose a family member. To lose a pet is to lose your routine. It leaves an empty space physically and emotionally. And to grieve that loss is heart-wrenching, beautiful, and deeply personal. In this blog, I will share my experience with it, how I went through it, and how I think I’ve helped others.
Recently, our friend used the term ‘community of grief’ when describing something incredible she’s working on. And that resonated with me. It’s true, that we avoid those who are grieving. We don’t know what to say. Do we acknowledge the death? Do we avoid it? Do we avoid the person until we think we might not catch them in a vulnerable moment? Our culture has not taught us how to embrace grief, acknowledge it, and live with it… especially when it comes to losing a pet.
In January 2014, my soul dog came into my life in the form of a Great Dane who I named Maggie after Rod Stewart’s Maggie May - because who doesn’t love that song? Maggie… oh Maggie… how do I describe her? Ethereal. Not of this world. Sweet. Seeker of comfort. Stink breath.
Above is a picture of me with Maggie the first day we met, then her in the snow (one of her favorite things in the world), Maggie the Unicorn, and after her amputation had healed when we could do short walks.
Shortly after she turned five she tripped getting out of bed, I noticed she had a bit of a lump on her forearm. Long story short, she was diagnosed with osteosarcoma (aka bone cancer). Bone cancer, if you don’t know, is terminal. Mags hated, loathed, and detested going to the vet. She would shake like a leaf and get stress dandruff every single time. The treatment options weren’t stellar. We could 1) do nothing and keep her comfortable with pain meds 2) amputate the limb and put her through chemotherapy as palliative care 3) amputate the limb and treat holistically. We chose option 3 and found Dr. Doolittle in the process. Yes, that’s her given name. The first time we went to her office, Mags sniffed the floor, did a couple of spins, laid down, and fell asleep. She fell asleep at every single visit with Dr. Doolittle after that.
I don’t think I can describe how tough all of this was from the decision to amputate and caring for her post-amputation, to the decision to say goodbye. If you want to take a deep dive, check out the blog I wrote in real time as we were going through it: Maggie and Me.
Suffice it to say, Mags had a great final six months thanks to Dr. Doolittle and cancer getting removed (at least temporarily) until it came back with a vengeance in her lungs. I remember that day vividly. We were staying in Jamestown at a friend’s house when she woke up, hopped a few feet and coughed up blood. That’s when I knew… when we knew… the end was nigh and it was coming so fucking fast. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. It’s been 5 ½ years and I’m still not fucking ready. I slept with Maggie in the living room for a few nights. She couldn’t sleep well because she couldn’t breath well. For all that she gave me, how… how could I put her through all of this? For what? My selfishness? She wasn’t living… she was barely surviving. So we made the appointment, the last appointment of the day so we could walk out without seeing others (thank you Armory Animal Hospital), and we let her go. Me with my head on her chest, Cory with her head in his lap, and Dr. Corey (our amazing traditional vet) tearing up with the vet tech as Mags took her final breath.
Going back home without her was an awful car trip. Her empty bed would still be there. Her toys. Her food. Her bowl. Her leash. Her collar in my hand. I think waking up the following day was the saddest day of my life. She wasn’t there. Cory was gone already for the day. I went to her bed, laid down, and just cried. I wanted her back so badly but I had no regrets in letting her go. It was time. She deserved a dignified death because she was the best damn dog ever. And she deserved to be with those who loved her so deeply in those final moments so she wouldn’t be scared.
I learned through sharing this in my blog that many people followed along and have since, throughout the years, reached out to me when their dogs were going through something similar. I love that Maggie’s life and our experience touched so many others. I realized, perhaps, that I had created a community of grief.
It sucks to lose a pet. It’s okay to be broken up about it. It’s okay to reach out when you need to express your grief. And for everyone else, please acknowledge our grief.
My friend sent this to me the day we said goodbye to Maggie and it is absolutely perfect.
We still talk about Maggie, daily. I have a tattoo of her and me on my forearm.
The picture that I used to get the tattoo. I used to say her native name was tail wags because every time she’d see me, her tail would wag.
Many people still talk about Maggie with us. Her spirit lives on through our stories and their stories. Of course, many of you know we have another Great Dane, the infamous Reno, who couldn’t be more different but just as amazing as Maggie.
Our hearts have infinite space for the pets in our lives and to get another one is not to replace but to open ourselves up to another equally as beautiful yet completely different relationship with another being. How incredible is that?
After we picked up Maggie’s ashes we got a lovely brochure, Ten Tips on Coping with the Loss of a Pet (by Moira Anderson Allen, M. Ed), that gave us some tips on how to deal with the loss of the pet. Below is that brochure for you to view but high level here are the topics it covers:
Am I crazy to hurt so much?
What can I expect to feel?
What can I do about my feelings?
Who can I talk to?
When is the right time to euthanize a pet?
Should I stay during euthanasia?
What do I do next?
What should I tell my children?
Will my other pets grieve?
Should I get another pet right away?
Download it here
Anyway, thanks for being here and reading this. Stay tuned for other topics that honor the experience of the animal/human relationship.
