YOUR WALKING BUDDY

Pet Loss: Letting Go with Love

By Linda Ross Swanson

I met Lily while walking the Wildwood Trail in Forest Park, Portland, OR. She was chomping on a patch of clover, paying no attention to me or my girlfriend. I knew this wasn’t a typical wild rabbit — the kind you see scurrying through the woodlands. This was a Netherland Dwarf rabbit that someone must have turned loose.

“You know what?” I said to my friend, “If that bunny will let me pick her up, I’m going to take her home with me.” Lily was accommodating, so I tucked her in the sleeve of my sweater and brought her home.

Lily was a little princess, a house pet, not a rabbit to be kept outside in a hutch. I loved her. She was little, cute, and spunky. She enjoyed snuggling and licking my neck with her tiny, pink tongue. Plus, it only took 20 minutes to train her to use a litter box.

I enjoyed Lily for almost two years before I found the lump in her breast. Alarmed, I took her to the vet. As I feared, her diagnosis was breast cancer. The decision to remove the diseased breast was an easy one. What I didn’t know is that rabbits often die of heart attacks coming out of anesthesia. And that’s how Lily died — from a heart attack.

I felt horrible about not being there when she came out of surgery. If I’d been there, I wondered, if I’d held her as she awakened, would she have lived? Many what-ifs swirled through my mind.

I gave Lily a proper burial in our backyard. I carried her blanketed body, while my two daughters, husband, and best friend followed, carrying lit candles. At her gravesite I spoke about what Lily had meant to me and shared stories of her antics. I thanked Lily for her unconditional love, asked for her forgiveness, and said goodbye.

When our beloved pets die, the grief is the same as it is with the loss of our loved ones. We need to develop new eyes after any kind of loss, because our worldview is altered after the death of someone we love — human or animal. We need to create a “new normal,” as we re-examine and reorder our lives.

Memorializing our pets helps make the loss a reality. Inviting others to share in the ritual gives us an opportunity for social support during our grief journey. There are many other activities that encourage healing, including journaling, singing, artwork, meditation, yoga, and walking.

For me, when a loved one dies, it means immersing myself in the natural world by walking or running. When I’m experiencing grief, I spend an inordinate amount of time in nature, my place of solace and peace. I also surround myself with non-judgmental people who understand my loss and provide the freedom and safety for me to give my sorrow words.

Gradually, the general population is acknowledging that pet loss is a legitimate grief, a bereavement that requires the same kind of support given for the loss of any other family member. We bond with our animals just as we bond with the important people in our lives, and our attachment levels are often very deep. Our animals provide pure, honest, and unconditional love. These traits are rare in our personal relationships, and many times owning and loving a pet fills the empty places in our lives.

From time to time on my walks through Forest Park, I revisit the grounds of the Pittock Mansion, stopping at the cyclone fence where I first spotted Lily. It is there that I feel her presence and celebrate our relationship.

When our beloved pets die, it is important that we acknowledge the loss, feel the pain, and give ourselves enough time to heal before adopting another. Grief takes time; it requires the telling of stories, shoulders to cry on, reordering of worldviews, and psychologically relocating our loved ones and pets so as to enable continuing bonds.