Grateful For Grief — Fur Baby Love
“The bond between a pet and a human is a sacred one, and when a pet is gone, a part of us goes with them.” ~ James Herriot
We will all experience grief in our lifetime. We won’t love without experiencing loss at some point. Some of the unfortunate events will spark a grief that’s easier to navigate while other events will ignite a gut wrenching blow to your heart that seems to hold you down as you try to catch your breath.
We lost our beloved fur baby, Maya Ray, on May 28th, 2024 unexpectedly and traumatically. I can now say I lost alert-consciousness for five weeks. Grief doesn’t feel the same for any two people and it doesn’t discriminate based on species, religion, culture, etc. Grief hits, many times alongside trauma, and what happens next is unique to you.
I want to share my story for the animal owners who have lost a beloved fur baby (family member) because losing any family member is heartbreaking and may even feel like your life will never be regulated again. The emptiness an animal leaves when they pass creates a hole that will eventually fill up again but may need to be honored with the challenging stages of grief first.
Maya came into our lives with happy puppy energy and a silliness that exceeded measurement. She was so much fun to play with and watch. She loved being held and with all that fuzzy fur of a Sheltie puppy, she was off the charts adorable. A puppy that cute simply couldn’t exist without her ailments, and Maya worried us from the age of four months until the moment she died.
Maya had a high level of gastrointestinal distress that forced me through five or six different dog foods before finding what she could tolerate. Before Maya was two years old, she had a bad case of pancreatitis and we began to wonder how much longer we’d be able to love Maya here on earth. In true Maya Ray fashion, she’d be really sick and within days, bounce back to her normal energetic, silly, and sassy self. For the next six plus years, Maya would unexplainably have what we called “runny butt,” otherwise commonly known as diarrhea. The episodes would come first thing in the morning, late morning, mid afternoon, after dinner, or the middle of the night. There was no rhyme or reason for the flare up, and it would last three to four hours. I spent countless evenings sleeping on the sofa or sitting in our temperature controlled garage so Maya could come and go as she needed while I comforted her in between. I’ve had to reschedule dozens of work meetings to tend to Maya. To say Maya needed a lot of love and care doesn’t come close to describing how we had to alter our lives to protect, comfort, and show affection to our sweet baby.
I can’t forget to share, she also had separation anxiety, hated the car, and despised leaving the house.
“Grief is the price we pay for love.” ~ Queen Elizabeth II
The day Maya died, we had no idea she’d been suffering from symptoms of congestive heart failure. She woke us at 5 am on May 28th, 2024 with a cough. Within two hours, she wasn’t breathing as usual and seemingly working her body hard to get air in and out. I got dressed and clicked her into her seat belt in the back seat of my car. I drove and dialed hoping to quickly determine where to take her. There were a few mishaps on the way but I finally pulled into the parking lot of our vet who’d calmly said, “bring her in, we’ll care for her” when I got them on the phone. As quickly as we walked in the front door, they scooped up my baby and brought her back to be assessed. There wasn’t the tiniest thought in my mind that the next time I saw and held Maya, she’d die in my arms within seconds.
Around 12:15 pm EST on May 28th, 2024, our baby took her last breath and she was gone. The entire 24 hours of that Tuesday still feels like a nightmare and will always be recalled with a cloudy memory. To love and care for a companion animal who’s essentially a family member means you are 100% responsible for their care every single day of their life. Unlike human children, you can’t leave their breakfast, lunch, or dinner in a reachable place so they can prepare their meal for themselves. They depend on you for everything: feeding them, providing water, caring for their time to relieve themselves, keeping them protected, showing love and affection, and offering compassion at the end of their life. They never outgrow their need for you to take care of them. In addition, you grow to depend on them as well. They live every minute for you and many of us live every minute for them.
They watch us grow up or grow old. They sit with you when you’re celebrating or nursing a broken heart. They’re consistently happy to see you any time of the day and under any circumstance. They may be ring bearers at your wedding or the first to greet your newborn baby when brought home. They offer calm when you’re anxious or playfulness when you’re feeling down. They lay with you when you’re sick and sit by the door waiting for your return when you’ve stepped away.
Losing a fur baby invites a different kind of suffering. Some people may not understand the bond and love you shared with your beloved pet family member. Your pain and heartbreak come from a place of deep and honorable love. You may feel you have to explain your grief so others understand or you may feel others deny you the freedom to grieve but you don’t have to allow either. Your loss, pain, and grief are unique to you and the grief journey you’re on can’t be compared to any other loss or measured by anyone else. Your path is yours. It will be a roller coaster because some days you’ll get through the day without crying while other days you’ll be able to count the minutes you didn’t cry.
“Nobody can fully understand the meaning of love unless he’s owned a dog. A dog can show you more honest affection with a flick of his tail than a man can gather through a lifetime of handshakes.” ~ Gene Hill
You may experience grief-depression or unintentional negligence (as I’ve coined them) during your healing journey. In a grief haze, I drove through two stop signs in one day with my other dog, Zoe, in the back seat of my car. You may feel exhausted and have a decreased or increased appetite. You may even isolate yourself if you aren’t surrounded by caregivers who empathize with your heartbreak. You may grieve for several weeks or you may grieve for months, maybe even years. Unfortunately, there isn’t a proven manual to guide you through a loss that is unique to you. Honor your pain because it becomes the messenger of love you can actively give to your beloved fur baby who’s passed.
Some may say, “it was just a dog, you can get another one,” or “at least you had your dog for the years you did,” or “you gave your fur baby the best life they could have lived.” Some of the mentioned phrases may feel unhelpful to you and it’s important to know some people won’t comprehend the true love you shared with your fur baby. Others may be uncomfortable with the pain you’re feeling and not know what to say or do. Surrounding yourself with people who invite your feelings and appreciate the unique journey you’re on will be most helpful. Allowing yourself the time to grieve, to share stories about your family member, and to say their name as many times as you need will help you overcome the immediate shock and sadness that follows after your loved one has died.
Without the intent to feed you positive platitudes or a silver lining, I want to share that five weeks and five days into my grief, I began feeling extreme gratitude. Of the millions of people in this country, we were the ones who were fortunate enough to pour our love on Maya Ray. We brought her home at eight weeks, nurtured her, partnered her with our older dog, Zoe, cared for her, witnessed her sass and silly antics, belly laughed at her jokes (she was a fur baby comedian), watched her sleep and dream, hugged her little body, kissed her little face, and loved her with every ounce of who we were. We were a family and I feel endless gratitude for that.
The pain you feel is real, and it’s warranted. You may suffer a dear and painful loss. Invite each day for what it brings. Ride the comforting waves when they come and embrace the sad tears when they stream down your face. In the end, grief is love.
