It Will Get Better With Time. Time Heals. That’s What They Say.
Member David shares his pet loss story.
“It will get better with time. Time heals.” That’s what they tell us. I think because it’s a combination of not knowing what to say when there is nothing you can say, trying to offer some sliver of comfort, and also not least because they’ve heard it said before, and both they and we hope it is true. In some cases, it might be. In many, though, I think it’s an oversimplification that managed to paint both outside some lines and leave gaps inside others.
When I lost my first dog, a greyhound called Jen, I encountered a kind of grief that was a completely different animal from the grief I’d experienced before. I’d experienced loss before -family members and friends, and pets, people, and creatures I’d loved. I’d felt the pain of their loss. Mourned their absence and the futures together that would no longer be. There was intense sadness, tears, disruption of day-to-day life, and all the familiar things we associate with grief. Each time, after a while, the ship would right itself, and life would carry on as normal in spite of the constant reminder of their absence.
When I lost Jen, it was completely different.
It was the savage, cruel severing of a core part of my life. I was bewildered by my inability to comprehend what was going on around me and inside me. In hindsight, I can appreciate that I was lucky no one uttered the brutal words, “she was just a dog.” I have kinder people in my life than that. I wouldn’t have needed anyone to tell me that Jen was “just a dog”. I knew that. She was also so much more. A soul mate whose first meeting with me contained a gaze telling me she’d been waiting a thousand years for me to turn up at the kennel door on that day. A creature with whom I’d fallen in love at first sight and who loved me before we’d even met.
I don’t know if anyone around me really understood what I was feeling.
I don’t think I really understood myself. Perhaps one of the few people in my life who would truly have had an inkling – my father – had passed away two years earlier, making his absence more keenly felt than it had been in a while. This new grief was bolder and more vocal. It was a creature with its own existence that hunted me relentlessly, toying with me like a cat might play with a mouse.
After a few weeks, it wasn’t always an overwhelming presence during every waking minute, but it was always there. A malevolent shadow lurking in the dark corners of the room, waiting to pounce at any time and deliver a sucker punch, leaving me fighting for breath. I had support from family and friends. From people who had lost their companion animals. Even so, I felt isolated and alone in a way I never had before. My expectation that it would ease with time wasn’t met.
It didn’t get better with time, but it did change.
After a breakthrough in a talking therapy session, the grief stopped being a sadistic monster tormenting me and became part of me. The pain was still there, is still there, but is now integrated into a new me. Someone who is stronger for acknowledging the grief and is able to see past it with greater frequency. I’m still a wounded creature trying to navigate an unfamiliar landscape littered with clichés, indifference, and potholes that make me lose my footing just when I think I’ve worked it all out - but I know that I can get up and carry on. Sometimes, even if it’s one weary footstep at a time. When the talking therapy course was completed, I decided to look for a support group to help me continue my journey through grief. I found the Pet Loss Support Group and discovered that not only did talking about my losses help me, but listening to other people’s stories helped too.
It feels like I’ve found another tribe I belong to.
Not one I would have chosen, but one I find myself grateful for, nonetheless. I get comfort from having the opportunity to talk with people who can partly fill the particular gap left by my late father in that they “get it”. Comfort not just in telling my story and getting their support, but unexpectedly, listening to their stories and offering my support, too. Although we all ultimately travel this path by ourselves, there is relief in hearing nearby voices and sharing the warmth of the campfire along the way.
I don’t think time heals grief in the same way it heals a cut or a bruise.
Rather, I think we grow stronger and more able to deal with its presence. The best analogy I’ve heard is to think of the grief we pick up during our lives as a rucksack full of rocks. As we go through life, all we do is add to the burden. We never empty the rocks, but like Milo of Croton carrying his calf, we grow in strength. Occasionally, a huge rock will be added that weighs us down, but our strength builds back over time to meet the challenge. Every now and then, we still need a rest, to sit down and take the weight off for a moment. However, our strength continues to grow, and although we’re always aware of the burden we carry, it doesn’t always weigh us down to the exclusion of everything else.
At first I found that I felt guilty.
I was so used to mourning that not being sad, even for a moment, felt like a betrayal. It isn’t, though. Our grief for those we loved and who loved us includes grief for ourselves, too. I’ve learned that the kindness I would offer to other people suffering is also something I need. That self-compassion is fundamental in ensuring we survive and eventually continue to thrive.
It’s been over 13 years now since I lost Jen. It struck me that she has been gone longer than she was here on this Earth. I miss her every day. I will miss her for as long as I am able to remember her. But now, for the most part, the sad memories are replaced by those of the fun we had together. The goofy things she did. Her little quirks. Above all, I can appreciate how fortunate I am that in the vast ocean of time in this universe, in this huge world we inhabit, I was fortunate enough for our lives to collide at exactly the right time and in exactly the right place for us to share part of our journeys. I feel, now, I can celebrate that two creatures capable of limitless love got to share exactly that.
Feeling intense pain and grief after losing your beloved pet? You don’t have to navigate this journey alone. Join a support session and connect with others who ‘get it.’