When a pet companion passes away

For nearly ten years, I had the pleasure of being accompanied by a beloved cat named "Sadie." She just left us a few days ago. Her worn, fatigued, and ailing body surrendered to nature's dictates. She was a giant, friendly, and affectionate bullmastiff companion that loved hanging out with the family 24 hours a day, seven days a week. She adored all of us, particularly my wife.

For almost a decade, we've had the pleasure of being greeted by the most devoted pet-friend imaginable. But now the tears are streaming down my cheeks, and our anguish is palpable. Grief for a pet is difficult to understand or define. Grief is the powerful emotional reaction one feels when something or someone is lost.

Pets have long been a source of delight for animal lovers, and the loss of one is unlike any other. It's a strange kind of mourning in which you're not sure how to navigate the waters. Grief appears as a heavy, black, non-substantive presence in the depths of our being, and it stays for as long as it stays. I'm not sure if grief ever goes away. It simply occupies a new place on the balcony of our memories and hearts. And it's difficult to ignore the death of a pet friend casually. It's always a pain.

Even though we may seek a likeness, the loss of a beloved pet cannot be likened identically to the loss of a beloved family member. Pets only exist for a brief time before moving on to another sphere. When they do, they leave us with one end of the leash that we used to keep them company. What we see in our dogs is a childlike innocence that we as adults do not possess. Perhaps this is why we react differently to the death of a pet than we do to the death of a loved one. I just know that the pain that comes with the death of a cherished animal companion is difficult to bear. And I scoff at the idea of attempting to get over it, since it's a ridiculous reality, and forgetting isn't in my game plan. Love is the source of grief, and the latter is preserved.

Several pets have passed on to their next home throughout the years, and I have closed the book on them. Each death felt like a rock to the gut, because one is left clutching the single end of a rope while the other had no holder. And this reality may contribute to the definition of loneliness. Grief-loneliness is unlike anything else. It's dark, unique, and ominous, no pun intended. And all you do is hold it, hold it, hold it.

Grief is a difficult emotion to process. It wouldn't be grief, I suppose, if we did. To put it another way, there is something in us that we cannot touch, manage, or steer. (Occasionally, I consider how beneficial it would be for our local news outlets to publish a weekly obituary listing of family pets who have died, with any proceeds going to the humane organization.) I'm tempted to put it out there).

In conclusion, grief is an emotional response to the loss of someone or something that is loved and cared for, and it does not go away. It has a lengthy lifespan. It reigns supreme and occupies the minds of those who possess it. Obviously, the writer's self is reflected in today's column, as he has lost a beloved pet, but he is convinced that others may write similarly.

Finally, thank you, Sadie, for bringing a decade of delight to our family and for teaching us more about devotion, love, forgiveness, and friendship. Because you came to see us, our lives have improved.

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