My Grief Was Definitely Real

It was supposed to be the most mundane of tasks that Saturday afternoon. I was simply moving my car in our family’s driveway to be directly in front of the garage door. Just a few yards. 

Before I even moved it one yard, I hit something with the left front wheel. But there was nothing in front of it to hit when I got in the car just a moment before. I was confused. So, I stepped out of the car to see what was suddenly there. 

I can’t easily describe what I felt like when I saw what it was. Who it was, actually. Our 13-year old collie Sandy lay against the wheel, still and crumpled before it. In horror, I bent down. She was breathing. But her breaths were shallow, erratic, labored. As she looked up at me, I was heartbroken. My heart’s beat quickened. I felt as if every bit of color had drained from my face. I started to sweat, which I rarely ever do. 

My father, who was at the garage door, waiting to take a look under the hood of my car, came over to see what had happened. I couldn’t look him in the eye. Together, we picked up Sandy and carried her to the garage. 

She was obviously in pain and distress. I had never seen her like this. We gently laid her down on a hastily-retrieved blanket.

“I’m so sorry. I never saw her in front of the car. She was nowhere near it when I got in it. I don’t know where she came from, and when she walked in front of the car. I’m so sorry. What can we do to help her? Can we take her to a vet? I’m so sorry.”, the contrition poured out of me. 

I was mortified at what I had done. I was mortified that Sandy was obviously struggling because of me. I wanted the past few minutes to rewind. I wanted what happened not to have happened. I felt more horrible than I had ever felt before. I had just done something terrible to deeply hurt a life I dearly loved.

We lived in the country, on the outskirts of a small village, in a home surrounded by woods. My father, knowing what I didn’t want to know or accept, knew that Sandy was dying. Intuitively, he knew that going to a vet probably wasn’t going to help her. The terrible damage was done. What he said next, shredded my heart and emotions into ribbons. At that moment, it was not what I wanted to hear, much less do. I was told to get two shovels from the nearby shed; he was going into the house to get … his hunting rifle. He didn’t need to tell me what for. I was speechless at the thought of what was coming next. 

Together, he and I carried Sandy, silently, in the blanket she was lying on, into the woods behind our house. We carried her far enough so that we could not be seen from the house, where now my mother and younger brother and two sisters were standing on the deck watching this horrid scene take place. I had never felt such remorse and shame. 

We stopped, at my father’s direction, beneath one of the trees and gently laid Sandy down. I couldn’t talk as I trembled and reluctantly helped him to dig her grave. At that moment I felt as if I should be digging my own. When my father indicated it was deep enough, we picked up the blanket with Sandy on it and lowered it into the earth. And as my father picked up his rifle, a sudden surge of intense guilt, profound grief, and utter sadness, along with a torrent of tears, overcame me and I frantically spun away from my father and Sandy’s grave and bolted through the woods back toward our house. As the sound of the shot pierced the air, I ran even harder to get as far away as I could from the scene. 

I don’t remember what I did or where I stopped running and when I stopped crying. It’s still all a blur decades later. I just remember that I wouldn’t go into our house; I didn’t want to face my mother and brother and sisters. I definitely didn’t want to face my father. My shame only grew. 

I was 22 years of age, 10 months out of college, about to be married in another three months. I had started a professional career. But I didn’t feel at all like a grown and mature man. I was a profoundly ashamed and grieving child at that moment. I didn’t want anyone to see me like that or to face my family in my shame.

I don’t remember much about the rest of that day or night. I think I desperately wanted to block it all from my mind, from reality. 

I caused our beloved pet to die.

I was the primary one to feed, groom, interact with, and play with Sandy. As the oldest child, age nine when we brought her home as an adorable puppy, I became the closest to her. She was gentle and friendly and waited for me every single day at the edge of our yard when I walked home from the school bus. My heart was warmed as her tail wagged, welcoming me home. Hers was a greeting I can never forget. Except when I was away at college, my favorite job at home was caring for and spending time with her. We’d go for long walks in the woods, she was always by my side. She was a confidant as I went through my sensitive teenage years. She never made fun of me, was never dismissive of me, and never criticized me. She was consistent in her affection whenever she saw me, her tail going back and forth, her nose nuzzling me, and her tongue licking my hand as I reached to pet her or brush her long brown and white coat. She was a constant when I felt lonely or anxious, and always ran toward me and never away. Being with her was calming and safe; being with her filled me with so much love. We’d had several other dogs in our young years. But Sandy was the most special to me. That she died because of my failing to see her walk in front of my car, was too much to carry. It certainly wasn’t the way I would have ever wanted her life to end. It still saddens me whenever I remember her and think about that horrible day.

Pets can become such integral parts of our lives, such beloved members of our families. When they suffer and when they die, no matter how they die, we suffer too. And parts of us can break and die with them. The joy and companionship they can bring to us leads to pain and grief when they are no longer such intimate and cherished parts of our lives. 

The stories of love that we with Someone To Tell It To hear and read from so many of those who reach out to us, are incredibly heartwarming. For many, their pets provide a feeling of unconditional, non-judgmental love and comfort far more than many people in their lives do. That’s a truth that is woven through more stories than we can number. People are so often cruel, hurtful, and dismissive to one another. Our pets are not that way with us. We form bonds with our pets because bonds are often easier to form with pets than with many people. Our pets rarely hurt us. People often do. 

Human beings are hard-wired to need connections. We are hard-wired to want to be noticed, respected, valued, and – most of all – loved. We also crave being listened to deeply, non-judgmentally, without interruption, and without being told what to do or how to do it. Humans aren’t especially good at meeting those needs for each other. But beloved pets can usually do it so well, without even seeming to try. It seems intuitive to their natures. Yet, not so much to ours. 

Someone To Tell It To’s teams of listeners take seriously the grief that people express to us when a pet they truly love dies. We know that the bonds they’ve formed are strong and real. The pain of a severed relationship with a pet can be intense and long-lasting, often because the purity of the relationship with them hurts so much to be gone. Human relationships are too often fraught with complexity, disappointment, and regret, and there can be a more complicated reaction to their loss. With a pet … well, it can often be incredibly devoid of so many of those troubling emotions and feelings. But grief is grief, no matter what it relates to. Whether it’s from the death of a person we treasure and love, or of a broken relationship we once cherished, a job we have lost, health we no longer have, or any other loss we did not ask for but must now face, grief is part of the human condition. Our pets’ deaths can cause grief that surprises us in its intensity more often than we might realize.

I remember that terrible afternoon so long ago, looking into Sandy’s big brown eyes as she lay in pain and distress, seeing them begin to cloud as she weakened and her fate became more and more clear to me that her life was soon going to end. She hadn’t disappointed me, ever. The bond between us was pure. But I had hurt her. 

My grief was definitely real. 

Photo by Belinda Fewings on Unsplash