MN Pets

From www.sharingandhealing.org

When we talk to clients facing heart-wrenching decisions, we frequently hear apologies about their tears or distress. I always reply that, of course, it is okay and that there’s no need to apologize. However, my response never seems to do justice to just how acceptable and expected it is for them to be feeling so overwhelmed. Losing a pet can be devastating, and facing end-of-life decisions can be agonizing. The apologies I hear often bring to mind an old memory of a gentleman in a pet loss support group who gently said to an apologizing woman overwhelmed with grief and tears:

“You know, when you are drowning in a swamp full of alligators, nobody expects you to get out of there with grace.”

When faced with profound losses and devastating decisions, feeling overwhelmed is an incredibly normal and natural response – you are doing what you can to survive this moment. That man said it better than I’ve ever been able to, and his echoing words consistently remind me that a grieving heart needs compassion, patience and permission to grieve.

Burying your grief or pushing it aside won’t make the pain disappear or the process move more quickly. It seems that we often feel that if we’re attending to our grief, we’re somehow dwelling on our loss or failing to move on. In fact, it is usually just the opposite. Consider how we approach our physical ailments. If you break your leg, you give your body time to rest and heal. You may know that you will someday walk or even run again, but for now, you care for your body and listen to what it needs. It can help to envision your grief in much the same way.

Unfortunately, the grief we feel following the loss of a pet still lacks the social acceptance that other forms of grief are awarded, and we often have to claim our own time and space to grieve. It takes an extra step of courage and self-awareness to ask to take the day from work, to call a family member or friend to come watch your kids for an afternoon, or to simply allow yourself to cry when you feel the need to. As difficult as it can be to give yourself permission, it’s important to remember that your needs are worthy of the same patience and compassion you give those you love.

We have written before about how crying can help us physically express our grief.  Tears, however, seem to be one of the most common things people feel the need to prevent or apologize for. Often, our worst fear is breaking down into tears at work, at a social gathering, or even in front of our children. Giving yourself permission to process and honor your grief involves listening to your body and working with the emotions you are feeling, rather than burying them or setting them aside for later.  And sometimes people find that even just consciously giving themselves permission to feel overwhelmed and to express their sadness lifts a burden off their heart.

Remember, our society does not always support healthy grieving processes; most of us are conditioned to ignore, move on, and “get over it”. Once we step outside of those expectations, it’s easier to give ourselves the freedom and space to grieve, heal and grow. Sometimes we need help walking this path and claiming the space we need, and we may also need to give ourselves permission to look outside ourselves for help from family, friends, support groups or professionals.

Next week: Permission to Grieve, Part II (Permission to Heal)

Built to cry…

The grief that accompanies the loss of a beloved companion animal is profound and the pain of that loss can be felt emotionally, spiritually, and physically.  Grief is a grueling physical experience and shedding tears is one of the ways our body supports us in processing and healing from loss.

Sadness and grief are the emotions that help us with loss.  When a significant loss is sustained there is a buildup of emotion that, if we allow it, is expressed physically through crying.  That release often helps us “process” the experience we are facing and among other things, can help us to recover some mental balance.

Scientific research supports the belief that crying is good for our health.  Generally, it is agreed that there is a buildup of toxic stress hormones that are released into our bodies prior to crying.  Stress hormones negatively affect virtually every system in our bodies.  We know that tears contain these hormones and help to cleanse our bodies of them.  Thus, crying is a natural and essential biological function that results in the elimination of stress hormones associated with stress-related health problems. Crying relieves stress, lowers blood pressure, removes toxic stress hormones, and also helps to remove manganese, a mineral which is responsible for negative effects on mood.

Neuroscientist and tear researcher, Dr. William H. Frey explains that, “crying is not only a human response to sorrow, it’s a healthy one.  Crying is a natural way to reduce emotional stress that, left unchecked, has negative effects on the body, including increasing the risk of cardiovascular disease and other stress related disorders”.

The “water” in you…

The human body is 60% water and our blood is 83% water.  Metaphorically speaking, it may be useful to think of the water in our body as our “body of water” and in that way consider its function, the ways it flows, or is dammed.  When we experience a shock to our system, such as the death of a loved one, we become tense.  Stress hormones build up in our bodies and we may even get a lump in our throat.  All of these create a sense of blockage – damming our energy and waters.  Tears restore flow, allowing our water and energy to move freely – opening our waterways, connecting us to our healing waters…. cleansing us.

In her book, The Language of Emotions: What Your Feelings Are Trying To Tell You, Karla McLaren explains that, “many of us, because we’ve had such poor socialization around sadness, think that sadness is only about loss, it’s not.  Sadness is also about restoring flow, ease, and relaxation…. Because when you finally let go of things that just don’t work, you’ll suddenly have room for things that do.”  McLaren says that the questions to ask of sadness are, “What must be released? And what must be rejuvenated?

In the case of grief and its accompanying sadness, we do not have a choice about whether or not to let our loved one go, their life has come to a close.  Sadness and tears help us with the very difficult task of letting go of the things that can no longer be held on to, restoring the flow of our “healing waters”, and creating space for us to move into what comes next.

As you can imagine, most of our appointments involve a lot of tears and moments of sadness and reflection.  As veterinarians whose careers are devoted to assisting with end-of-life care, this is something we expect and have become very comfortable with.  Individuals and family members feel the intensity of the moment, recognizing the gravity of saying goodbye to a four-legged loved one.

Often our conversation gets around to memories of the day the pet came home, how they picked them out of the wiggling mass of wagging tails or memories of quieter moments at the breakfast table or on the many hundreds of walks taken together.  All of these stories are special and celebrate the unique bond we have with our beloved companions.  I love these stories, as they bring a lightness to the moment and a brief respite from the intense feelings of grief.  Usually the memories bring a smile to everyone’s faces and (perhaps surprisingly) laughter is a part of many of our visits.

One day in particular stands out in my memory.  The couple and I were out on the lawn with their beautiful girl, an elderly yellow lab.  We were enjoying the end of a beautiful summer day, and as is so often the case in MN, were fighting off some mosquitoes.  No bother, we’re tough Minnesotans and their wish was for their girl to pass in the cool grass outside, where she was most comfortable.  I fully supported their choice as we often work outside where pets are comfortable.  Her mom and dad were deeply saddened at the thought of saying goodbye to her.  She was suffering from severe orthopedic difficulties and I supported their choice for her as well.  She needed to be released from her pain and suffering.

As we sat and talked, waiting for the sedative to relax her, the mosquitoes became more and more intrusive.  It was no longer just a slap here or there, it was full-on assault.  We tried to remain serious as befit the moment but somewhere a giggle snuck through.  First one, then each of us snickering and trying not to.  Something like that experience in church when you were a kid and your sibling says something funny to try to get you in trouble and you’re trying so hard not to laugh but you can’t help it.  The giggles turned to guffaws and finally to full-on belly laughs.  The tears were rolling down our cheeks and we couldn’t do a thing about it.  It was difficult to tell if mom and dad’s tears were tears of joy or sadness and at that point it didn’t matter.  We experienced one of the sweetest, most exquisite feelings: laughter through tears.  Their dog, without intention, gave one last gift to the people who loved her so dearly, momentarily releasing them from the intensity of their grief on that beautiful summer night.

Every once in a while, something really unusual happens and I feel like I’ve witnessed something extraordinary.

One of my patients this week was a lovely black lab mix named Indy who had reached the end of her journey with cancer.  Her loving family chose to help end her suffering in the gentlest way they knew, with a home euthanasia.  Her passing was peaceful and I could see that they were relieved to see her at rest.

Indy’s best friend at home was a healthy, beautiful setter named Bandit (pictured here).  He was young and energetic and in the interest of helping Indy be as relaxed as possible, Bandit spent the appointment in another room.  After Indy passed away, her owners wisely decided to give Bandit the opportunity to see her.

I strongly support allowing other pets in the household to be present during the appointment or to spend a few minutes with the deceased pet.  Pets are then able to process the loss.  It is one of the great benefits of home euthanasia appointments and does seem to help the grieving process, allowing pets to put to rest any mystery about what happened to their companion.  They don’t linger over things too long.  Most have a sniff or two and move on.  They aren’t burdened with the thoughts of what loss means, as we often are.

Bandit was different.  At first he did the usual sort of sniffing around and checking things out.  He walked from one to the other of us, greeting us.  He then cautiously sniffed Indy near her face and then a little near her elimination.  That’s normal as many pets recognize indoor urination as unusual for their companions.  He went back to her face and sniffed again, longer this time and tail nervously wagging.

Then he did something I’ve not observed before in my many experiences with pets at the time of loss.  He pawed at her a bit.  Then he lay down next to her with his face right next to hers.  He made a quiet sound I can’t describe.  He lay there, moments passing, while we watched, mesmerized.  I couldn’t help wonder what thoughts were going through Bandit’s mind.  I try not to attribute human emotions to pets – I feel I may interpret incorrectly and it seems unfair in some way to diminish the uniqueness of their experience in the world.  But allowing my anthropomorphising-self to have a guess, I’d say he was confused.  Where is she?  Can I get her to wake up?  After a few moments passed he got up and again made the rounds to each of us, licking tears and providing comfort (whether he meant to or not).

And then he was done.  No more of those same behaviors around Indy.  He walked around the room calmly and confidently and lay down, legs extended in the air, clearly asking for belly rubs.

Had he made sense of things, in his own way?  I think so.