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Written by Diane C. Nicholson
I watched my dog, Niki, have another epileptic seizure. She'd had grande mal seizures since she was three months old and now, three years
and a routine rabies shot later, they had become continuous. I was a young teenager and Niki had been my constant companion, my confidant,
and my best friend since I had convinced my parents to let me bring the four-week-old pup home from a pet store. I mustered all the strength that
my young life had to offer, told my dad to call the vet, and I jumped on my bike to escape the scene.
When I returned, Niki was gone, and with her a large section of my innocence. Although animals in my home had died before, I had never
before parted with something so precious to me, such an integral part of my very soul. My mom took me aside and said that Niki had died very
quickly. The vet had given her a needle during a seizure, and she had simply become peaceful.
I grieved hard for my friend. In my sadness, all I wanted to do was take my dog for a walk....
Shortly after that experience, I had to say good-bye to my equine soul mate. Arch was a half-Arab, Palomino stallion. I had helped to halter
break him, and was with him every moment possible. When his owner decided it was time to saddle break Arch, I felt intensely privileged to be
the first on his back. And then we walked him out to the paddock, where Arch proceeded to knock over his owner and take me for a rodeo ride.
But as a fourteen-year-old, I found the excitement exhilarating and rode him to a standstill.
Arch had to be sold. My family lived in Vancouver and having a horse to board was out of the question. So, with a very heavy heart and a
never-kept promise that I would someday find and buy him, I watched Arch leave my life. The grief was unresolved. I checked every palomino I
saw, hoping it was my old friend. There was no body. There was no finality. And although I know it's physically impossible, I still wonder if he is
alive.
It is said that the only thing that stays constant is change. Grief is a major component of that change. Every loss we encounter through life is
dealt with by grieving. Even changes that we view as positive, such as marriage, or going on to a better job, involve loss; loss of being single,
loss of old workmates and familiarity. How we approach and encompass the ability to move on, depends on how well we have learned to grieve.
As my life continued and I acquired and lost many animals obtained through my years of working at a Children's Zoo, I became more and
more adept at grieving. I stayed with my animal companions when it was absolutely necessary to euthanize them; I buried their bodies with
appropriate ceremony.
Years later, that skill was put to the ultimate test when my twin sons died shortly after their birth. Although nothing can prepare one for the
death of a child, I did have enough knowledge to know how to deal with the situation, and did not allow my fears to hold me back from doing what
my heart wanted to do, while the opportunity was available.
Having animals gives us an ideal situation to teach our children and ourselves about responsibility, unconditional love, empathy, and grief.
Whether the animal leaves our lives through death or unavoidable parting to another home, the loss can be very real. Yet the intensity of the
feeling usually depends on the relationship involved. When a cat has a stillborn kitten at a breeding facility, there will most likely be feelings of
sadness, mostly at the loss of potential as well as financial investment. But when a kitten dies at a family's home, one whose investment has been
mostly emotional, the feelings can be devestating.
When a friend has suffered a loss, we often have difficulty dealing with it ourselves. So we tend to stay away for fear that we might say the
wrong thing. Or we trivialize the loss to try and keep looking at "the bright side". Sometimes we will say such things as, "Well, it's not like it was a
person or anything." Or, "At least you can always get another one." Or, "Don't be so sad. After all, your cat has a good home, and you don't have
to look after it anymore." Saying such things often makes the bereaved person feel that they must be wrong for feeling the way they do. In fact,
there is no right or wrong way to feel, only what is.
Allow your friend, your child or yourself, to just be. The way they are handling the situation is the way they need to handle it. Except for taking
care of themselves physically, don't give advice; simply listen. Be there with a shoulder to cry on and understand that grief may also bring with it
some physical conditions, such as lack of appetite, listlessness, fatigue, back pain, insomnia; the list goes on. It is difficult to continue "life as
usual" since life is not as usual and never will be again. That is not to say that happiness is now a fleeting improbability. But this existence has
changed directions again, and that needs to be acknowledged before we can grow with the experience.
Be honest with yourself, and with your children. Do not place adult methods of dealing with situations on children; they have their own. Kids
are amazingly able to cope with death if allowed to do so. We tend to try to protect our kids from what we adults consider the ugly parts of life. But
remember, each time we try to protect another human being from anything other than physical harm, we are denying them the opportunity for
growth. We cannot keep grief from them, nor should we try. But we can help them learn the skills they'll need to manage. We can do that by
opening ourselves to different ways of thinking and feeling, by reading some of the many books now available on death and grief, and by thinking
the situation through before it happens.
Whenever we start a new relationship we must accept that grief will be a part of it. The ending will come through a parting of life's paths, the
death of us, or the death of the other party. But that doesn't stop us from marrying, from having children, or from adopting a cat.
When in the middle of grief, sometimes it is hard to recall why we put ourselves at risk for this pain. But then our spouse gives us the look that
only they can give, our kids bring us a bouquet of dandelions, and our cat reaches over to gently swat at our passing leg. And suddenly it's back
in focus...
Diane C. Nicholson is an internationally accredited and published, professional photographer who specializes in horses,
companion animals and families. She is also a published writer who has had 4 stories in the Chicken Soup for the Soul series, several articles in
newspapers and magazines, and has a children's book currently being represented. Diane considers herself an activist for human and animal
rights and works hard to that end. She lives in British Columbia's interior with her human family which has extended to many rescued critters
including horses, dogs, cats, rabbits, a bird and a rat.
Visit Diane's website at - Twin Heart Photo Productions
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