I’ve lost two animals early: my dog, Sparrow, about 10 years ago, who succumbed to chronic kidney disease that we didn’t even know he had until his kidneys went into failure, and my cat, Gus, last year who got a hold of something toxic (he had a habit of eating silicone and foam products, and despite our best effort to ban those products from the house or hide them if they were necessary, he still found something) and also went into kidney failure.
The worst part about both of them was knowing that there would come a time when their absence felt more normal than their presence. When you invite a companion into your life, make them your family, their loss can feel like a death of self, especially when it’s early and unexpected. I found myself resenting the idea of becoming a person who isn’t enduringly devastated by that loss, as painful as it is.
For better or worse I have reached that stage for both of them. But I also still think of them both often. I can still feel the twisty fur behind Sparrow’s ears (he was a border collie mix) in my fingers. I can still feel the pressure in my chin where Gus would would dig in for a face rub. I am still capable of devastation over their loss, but I find the devastation comforting, and welcome it warmly.
I had lost another cat a few months ago, but he was elderly and had been struggling with a chronic illness for almost 2 years, so it wasn’t a surprise when he reached the point that it was time to say goodbye. And although I loved him, I didn’t have quite such a strong bond with him. So I was sad when he died, but it wasn’t as devastating as this.
I’ve never had such a strong connection with a pet until my little girl. I suppose it’s kind of… fitting that the very first time we met, she fell asleep upside down in my lap, and that was how she left life as well.
I’ve lost two animals early: my dog, Sparrow, about 10 years ago, who succumbed to chronic kidney disease that we didn’t even know he had until his kidneys went into failure, and my cat, Gus, last year who got a hold of something toxic (he had a habit of eating silicone and foam products, and despite our best effort to ban those products from the house or hide them if they were necessary, he still found something) and also went into kidney failure.
The worst part about both of them was knowing that there would come a time when their absence felt more normal than their presence. When you invite a companion into your life, make them your family, their loss can feel like a death of self, especially when it’s early and unexpected. I found myself resenting the idea of becoming a person who isn’t enduringly devastated by that loss, as painful as it is.
For better or worse I have reached that stage for both of them. But I also still think of them both often. I can still feel the twisty fur behind Sparrow’s ears (he was a border collie mix) in my fingers. I can still feel the pressure in my chin where Gus would would dig in for a face rub. I am still capable of devastation over their loss, but I find the devastation comforting, and welcome it warmly.
Thanks for this.
I had lost another cat a few months ago, but he was elderly and had been struggling with a chronic illness for almost 2 years, so it wasn’t a surprise when he reached the point that it was time to say goodbye. And although I loved him, I didn’t have quite such a strong bond with him. So I was sad when he died, but it wasn’t as devastating as this.
I’ve never had such a strong connection with a pet until my little girl. I suppose it’s kind of… fitting that the very first time we met, she fell asleep upside down in my lap, and that was how she left life as well.