Living with Pet Grief - Disenfranchised Grief - Blog 2 of 3
When Holly left us, I was confused and distraught by the depth of pain, and naively, having never experienced such loss before, began to count the weeks until I thought I might begin to feel differently. Two weeks, four weeks, eight weeks, three months, and today it’s been almost 5 months and the depth of pain remains. I recall reaching out to family and friends who had lost their pets to ask when I would start to feel different – I was completely lost. I stopped meeting friends, listening to music, reading, writing, and walking. I stopped engaging with the world except where I had to, mostly work. I feel hollow; all zest and spark for life left me the day Holly left this world.
I have to also add, that deep down I didn’t and don’t really want this pain to go away. Why? Because I am still processing the loss and also feel guilty that if I don’t feel this way, I have somehow accepted Holly has gone. During this time I have challenged my spiritual beliefs, I have cried, I have searched for meaning where there was none. I have searched for Holly.
What I know today is that the pain and sorrow are never going to go away – how can they when I miss Holly’s physical presence, her smell, the sound of her paws tapping along the kitchen floor, her wagging tail when she was full of excitement and happiness, the sound of her bark when the doorbell rang, and those big brown eyes that just melted my heart whenever I gazed into them. I know now, I have to ride this roller coaster of emotions until I learn to live again and that I’m exactly where I want and need to be right now.
“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened” – Anatole France.
It never really occurred to me that I would feel different emotions about sharing and showing my grief for Holly, for fear of being judged but that unfortunately is the reality. I discovered the term ‘disenfranchised grief’ which is used to describe grief that isn’t fully or sometimes even partly acknowledged by society and pet grief, amongst other things falls into this label.
What I’ve learned and experienced is how pet loss is perceived and received by others varies a lot, which you would expect when differentiating pet owners from non-pet owners but this variation also applies to pet owners.
I have realised that all pet owners care deeply for their pets, the difference is some are able to maintain a level of emotional detachment that makes the passage of a pet’s life easier to manage. However, some pet owners, myself included, see our pets as central and much-loved parts of the family, which means the level of attachment is far deeper, which in turn makes the grief deeper.
This learning and understanding at a deeper level has come from: Pet loss support from the Ralph Site, which was set up to help those experiencing pet grief.
There is research and articles on this website that explore the societal view of all animals, however, some of the key observations are that there is “no collective societal recognition and support of expressions of grief for animals”, as well as a “lack of societal agreement about the value of all animal life”.
Experiencing disenfranchised grief and feeling this way can bring more complications that may not be present in more socially recognised times of grief, leading to feelings of resentment and anger as you struggle to express the emotions around pet loss.
Here’s what I am learning:
That the length of time one grieves has nothing to do with the measure and strength of love you feel.
Taking one day at a time is the best one can do and if it means starting all over again, time and time again, then that is okay too.
Crying is a good thing, it is not a sign of weakness, and if that is what the heart and body need, then crying is okay.
That time cannot take from you what you have lived and the bond and love transcends that place Holly resides in now.
That the life we shared for almost 15 years is so precious and I must not allow this to be out shadowed by the loss – I’m still working on this one.
Not to let anyone tell you how to feel and not to be embarrassed or allow judgment to lessen the pain. Pet loss is true, valid, and significant.
To ignore those who say move on or get over it. This is my journey and I owe it to myself and Holly – to honour the grieving process.
Rituals can help, I have a few that keep me connected and thoughtful of the life we shared.
Reach out to friends and family for support, as they may not realise how you are feeling right now.
Creating a legacy helps - we honoured Holly by creating a photo book of her life and soon to have a painting commissioned.
Exploring the spiritual aspects of grief and death brings comfort if you can align yourself to something you can wholeheartedly believe in.
All of these things are helping to move and grow around the grief.
Dr. Huberman (visit blog 1 of 3 for context) gives several key concepts around this area:
Don’t try to dismantle the attachment – it is real, so there is no need to ignore or avoid it.
Make a daily effort to shift the mindset, and acknowledge the attachment is real and intense but the need to uncouple it from the other two dimensions of space and time.
Try to work through any guilt being experienced – the ‘what ifs’, because holding on to these prevents the uncoupling from space and time.
Hold what you are experiencing in the brain and body in the present space and time – keep hold of the emotional attachment, as this helps us feel the depth of attachment but not the yearning for what has gone.
Think about where in ‘space’ and ‘time’ your loss might be – this could be a spiritual aspect. Where is Holly in her current configuration? People often talk about the ‘rainbow bridge’ or a meadow where our beloved pets are waiting for us and creating this firm representation of where Holly is, is important. Dr. Huberman says that this is hard to do but one of the most adaptive ways to move forward.
Focus on self-care, whether that be sleeping well, lowering stress levels, or practicing vagal tone breathing (see podcast for more information on this breathing technique).
Before I end this blog, I just wanted to touch on the ‘rainbow bridge’ – this was a phrase I’d d heard many times before, and soon after Holly’s passing, although I never really gave it much thought. As I explored the spiritual aspect of death, I began to realise I needed a belief about where Holly is now, and this led to exploring the origins of this poem. Over the years many people lay claim to the poem but it has recently come to light that it was penned by Edna Clyne-Rekhy, who had no idea that the poem she wrote over 60 years ago to honour her own dog had brought comfort to so many others. When asked about the poem Edna tells the story of the loss of her Labrador who had died in her arms when she was just 19 years old. She described her grief and the tears that just kept flowing and her mother had suggested writing down how she was feeling. Following her mother’s advice, Edna penned the first line – “just this side of heaven is a place called the Rainbow Bridge” and from there the words poured out onto her sheet of paper. It goes like this:
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, your pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water, and sunshine, and friends are warm and comfortable. All the animals who have been ill and old are restored to health and strength, those who were hurt are made better and strong again, like we remember them before they go to heaven. They are happy and content except for one small thing—they each miss someone very special to them who had to be left behind. They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are shining, his body shakes. Suddenly he begins to run from the herd, rushing over the grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cuddle in a happy hug never to be apart again. You and your pet are in tears. Your hands again cuddle his head and you look again into his trusting eyes, so long gone from life, but never absent from your heart, and then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together.
To this day Edna still had the original hand-written draft of the poem.
You can read more about Edna Clyne-Rekhy here: The ‘Rainbow Bridge’ has comforted millions of pet parents. Who wrote it? | National Geographic
For me, this really has provided that missing spiritual aspect of where Holly is plus a sense of hope and belief we will be together again.
In part 3 I focus on the research around ‘growing around your grief’ as opposed to moving on from grief.