For 'pet parents', death and guilt are intertwined

IT has long been recognised that pets can play an important role in people’s lives. The close relationships, the benefits for fitness and mental health, the companionship. They have all been the subject of research and literature. 

It would surely follow that, if the value of having a pet were recognised, the trauma of losing a pet would also be acknowledged. But, those who lose their pets often find themselves having to hide their distress. They are concerned that they will be met with scorn or a lack of understanding. Or even challenged by those who find their anguish socially unacceptable. 

While our pets may shower us with absolute love, their short lifespans mean that heartache is inevitably around the corner. When a pet’s life is cut unexpectedly short, that pain can be almost unbearable.

However a pet leaves, their departure can alter a person’s life and have an adverse impact on their wellbeing. 

Research is beginning to document the negative effect pet bereavement can have on health, with evidence that it can be as severe as the bereavement over a human being. Feelings of guilt are an extra burden.  

The 'Journal of Mental Health Counselling' describes pet loss as ‘an undervalued grief’. Furthermore, there is a perceived hierarchy in the value of different types of pets. Some may find grieving over a cat more valid than mourning a hamster.

It’s unconditional love

Jo is a renowned Malaysian theatre-maker, who grew up surrounded by pets. She wasn’t particularly close to the cats in her childhood home, but that changed with her later cats, especially Kahoe.

“I had a special relationship with Kahoe, more than other cats. To say ‘the cat rescued me’ is clichéd, but it applies here. When he passed away, it was very hard.”

“It’s unconditional love, and that is very hard to give up. You only get it from animals. As humans, we put conditions on things, and if there were a human who gave you unconditional love we would find it hard to accept. But with animals, we can accept it.”

For Jo, Kahoe was part of her daily routine, especially when he fell ill.

“I miss Kahoe and miss the rituals I had with him: going outside in the morning, having a coffee and him sitting next to me when I’m reading. His absence is a void, an emptiness that I can feel inside me. Maybe the hole gets smaller with time.

“Your whole life revolves around caring for this creature that you love. So your grief, when they go, is not greater, but there is an added loss of purpose, I felt unanchored.”

Through Jo’s experience, she is aware that guilt and death are always connected.

“I felt guilty after Kahoe died. A character came and overtook me, and was horrible to me, telling me how I’d failed. Of course, you realise you’re manifesting your feelings of inadequacy and helplessness.”

As Jo explains it, society makes you feel guilty for your grief. 

“It only happens when you have a relationship with an animal. I find myself thinking, ‘It’s only a cat; this is nonsense’. If an uncle passes away you are allowed to say you’re sad, and yet we spend more time with our pets than we do with most of the people we love.”  

Jo found the rituals of the funeral were a comfort. 

“We have various funeral rites for people, which ensure family and friends come to your house and that you’re physically and mentally busy. It helps you move through that period. For Kahoe’s first-week and first-month anniversaries I did something because, I thought, that helps me.”

“It is comforting to think that you gave them a good life, for a while, and they had a good life with you, and you should remember that.”

‘He was still my child’

Gene, who admits he could be labelled a ‘crazy cat guy’, would agree. As a child growing up in Cheras, Gene had a dog but I got his first cat in 2010. His ginger and white boy, Julian, lived with him for many happy years. 

“Julian taught me about love. I miss his energy, watching him move so gracefully.”  

Even when a pet’s passing is expected, it can be emotionally draining or even devastating. Many pet owners such as Gene are faced with the difficult decision to shorten their beloved companion’s suffering by euthanasia. 

“I had to brace myself. Ending a life is a huge responsibility. Even though he was a cat, he was still my child. After it was over I compartmentalised it, and haven’t talked about it until now.”  

Gene found himself quite isolated in his grief and tried to focus on his responsibilities as a business owner to get through it. 

“You can’t talk about it with people, as many don’t accept it. There is only so much you can tell your friends. You’re all alone. Life goes on and I have so many people I have to support, so that keeps me going.”

Gone but still here

Tina lives in Subang with her three children and eight cats, yet the whole family knew that Fluffy was her ‘favourite child’.

“When I was miserable or frustrated with work, Fluffy was my comfort. I would put my forehead on his, and all was right with the world. He was my solace, my safe place.”  

When Fluffy was admitted to hospital, Tina knew it was serious, but she didn’t expect to lose him so swiftly. 

“I knew I would be hurt and upset, but I was not prepared for that kind of a loss. It was overwhelming – uncontrollable tears. This was not how I wanted it to end.”

Tina believed her feelings would not have been validated in the workplace.

“It was fortunate it happened during work-from-home (WFH) because I would not have been able to go into work. If you lose a family member you would be given some time off, but not for a pet.”

Tina was keen to ensure that Fluffy stayed with her in a way.

“Because I didn’t want to bury him and leave him, we got a huge pot from the nursery, so that wherever I move I can bring him with me. We got expert advice on the best way to do it, and we planted a jasmine tree in there with him. Every day I see the flowers blooming and I think, ‘He’s gone but he’s still here’. He had a good life and he knew he was loved, so I hold on to that.”

Living with the ‘what-ifs’

While anyone who met Wendy would be taken by her immediate warmth and her ready smile, under the surface lies a deep shadow. Wendy still feels the loss of her six-month-old kitten, Frankie, who had survived the loss of any eye at a few weeks old. 

Frankie died a year ago, due to an overdose of anaesthetic during a routine spaying operation. Sitting in the home she shares with her husband and her two cats, Wendy is unable to speak about Frankie without tears welling up.

“The first week, the two of us just cried. It nearly destroyed us. I still feel angry, as it shouldn’t have happened.”

Wendy was no stranger to keeping pets and knew that each time she opened her heart to an animal, their time would be limited. However, each previous pet had passed on through old age or circumstances in which she had no involvement. With Frankie, it was different.

“The worst was the guilt because I was the one that took her to the vet. There’s the ‘what ifs’ – what if I’d delayed for a week and got a different surgeon. The feeling of guilt was terrible. It still haunts me.”

Demanding better care from vets was important to Wendy, too, as well as providing love to another creature in need.

“Our new vet has noted what I went through with Frankie and takes every step possible to ensure my feelings as a pet parent are acknowledged when they treat our cats now. It’s vital that vets take the effects of bereavement seriously.

“When we lost Frankie, I thought, ‘We can never do this again,’ but we knew we’d take another baby. Getting a new pet is no replacement for Frankie, but we have space, the resources and enough love to give to another that needs me.”

A time to let go

Natasha and her husband decided to have Cleo put to sleep when old age took her dog’s health. Natasha grew up in KL, and her family always had dogs, but Cleo was the first she regarded as her own, holding a special place in her heart. 

“Cleo was quite amazing. She was like an ambassador, a service dog and a companion. She could reassure people who were afraid of dogs, with her calm, friendly way. She would go on long walks with me, and wait for the slow walkers like my mum – you can’t teach a dog that. 

Once Cleo reached 16, a good age for a Labrador, her health deteriorated.  

“Cleo was no longer able to walk, and then dementia set in. She had no idea what was going on and seemed miserable. That’s when I knew it was time – we wanted to release her from that. It was a very tough decision, but she was able to go peacefully.” 

Natasha also faced a lack of sympathy from a few people and felt that as Malaysians we are behind the times in the way we regard animals.

“We had some people remark that she was just a dog and we have so many others, but that’s like saying you lost a brother but you’ve got another one! More people in Malaysia now look at pets as part of the family, but that community is still very small, especially for dogs.”

Of course, among pet owners and like-minded people, it can be possible to find an informal support network. And suggestions of what might help to ease the process of bereavement.

For Natasha, it made a difference that they had an understanding vet. A memorial for Cleo also helped.

“Find a vet that cares, one who would consider what is best for you and your cat or dog. Many people don’t know their rights. Don’t be afraid to ask questions; you have the final say. Have a funeral service if you can, and create keepsakes.”

Changing the bereavement narrative

Certainly, there is a way to go before we can say we treat pet bereavement with the seriousness it deserves. Or before we offer the type of support services, in healthcare and workplaces, that are available in some other countries. 

However, a good step would be to stop judging bereavement on a scale of validity, with grief over the loss of pets being measured as less deserving of sympathy. 

All the pet owners or ‘pet parents’ interviewed here, in common with parents of children, made a promise to a helpless creature who couldn’t express themselves – that they would love them, look after them and protect them from everything. 

Yet this is an impossible promise we make, whether as parents or pet owners, as we are not always powerful enough to protect them. The breaking of that promise can often lead to an immense sense of guilt and unwieldy grief that can adversely affect lives. 

Once we change the narrative when it comes to bereavement – that it is not about who we lost, it is about the loss of a deep attachment we were fully committed to – perhaps we will start to provide the support and understanding to help to alleviate it. – The Vibes, January 17, 2021