How to deal with the death of a pet

“When you lose someone really close to you, pet or human, it can feel like the world is ending,” says Jennifer Golbeck, a computer science professor at the University of Maryland and a researcher on human-animal bonds. “Most people consider their pets to be family members. … They sometimes consider their relationship with their dogs to be closer than their relationship with most of their family members. In fact, it’s a very deep relationship, and when we lose them, our psychological need is to mourn them in the same way we would mourn any relationship that deep.”

When we adopt a pet, we know we’re entering into a relationship that will most likely end in loss. Yet for many people, the grief of losing a pet can be surprisingly devastating when it occurs. Research shows that the grief that follows the loss of a pet can be similar to that of a human, and in some cases even more complicated. Often, this pain is compounded by feelings of guilt (“I should have adopted him sooner”) and misunderstood (“It’s just an animal”). This is one more reason why pet owners, researchers, and counselors are looking for ways to comfort their owners through the loss and keep the memories of their pets alive.

Golbeck, who also runs a golden retriever rescue, says the relationships we form with our animals are “thoroughly good” compared to our human relationships. Our close relationships with other people, even the most loving ones, are fraught; they ask us to examine our faults and shortcomings. We misunderstand each other, we hurt each other, we give and take. With pets, there is a simplicity in what they give us – and what we give them – that cannot be replicated in humans. That can make the loss of their companionship all the more complicated.

“(Dogs) come into your life with a pre-existing, unconditional enthusiasm for you,” says David Freifeld, a Brooklyn resident who grew up with dogs. He and his wife, Elena, said goodbye to their four-year-old Bernedoodle, Ramy, earlier this year after he was diagnosed with a dangerous neurological condition. “From the moment (Ramy) came home, he just said, ‘What do you want to do today? I love you!'”

Ramy’s death was not Freifeld’s first experience with premature loss – his father died when he was in college – but he says it was exceptionally painful. Before Freifeld’s father died, he had the opportunity to talk to him about his death, to discuss what his father wanted and to make decisions as a family. Obviously, he couldn’t do that with Ramy, a being Freifeld trusted with complete confidence.

“It’s a special relationship or a special responsibility that we take on as the ones responsible for keeping them safe, healthy and alive … and then to have to make the decision for them to die, that goes against everything,” says Michelle Crossley, associate professor of clinical counseling at Rhode Island College and vice president of the Association for Pet Loss and Bereavement. “It’s a big challenge for people to grasp; they end up feeling guilty.”

For the Freifelds, those last five days at home before Ramy was put to sleep felt like a kind of one-sided hospice. They knew what was coming, but Ramy looked at them the same way.

“Because there’s this deep sense of loyalty, I think most people almost feel like they don’t deserve it when they have a pet. You feel so responsible for something that’s been entrusted to you so much,” says Freifeld. “I didn’t want him to feel like we had let him down.”

For others, the loss of a pet means grieving the constant shadow of comfort that accompanied them through different stages of life. While we love our parents, friends or relatives, often it is our pets who are physically there when we reach milestones like moving, getting married or having children. For 22-year-old Jackie Llanos, her schnauzer Nacho stayed by her side during a move to an entirely new country. She, her mother, three sisters and 4-year-old Nacho immigrated from Bogotá, Colombia to Stafford, Virginia in 2013.

“I think I really clung to him when I was sad, experiencing all these changes and not being able to communicate with the other kids,” she says. “He was just always a constant.”

Llanos is now a reporter in Florida, meaning her mother had become Nacho’s primary caregiver for the past few years. Last May, she called Llanos to tell her that Nacho wasn’t eating and it was probably time to say goodbye. Just hours before the vet appointment Llanos had scheduled for him, the 11-year-old dog died at home.

“It feels like the end of childhood in some ways,” she says. “It just feels like there’s one less connection to my childhood in Colombia.”

Losing a beloved pet can also be a particularly lonely feeling. Not only is the home literally emptier, but other people (without pets) may have difficulty empathizing with the deceased.

“People grieve in isolation because they don’t want their despair to be invalidated,” Crossley says. “One of the comments people make is simply, ‘It’s a pet; get another one.'”

Golbeck began researching pet loss while taking a psychology master’s course. The class was exploring “disenfranchised grief,” the concept that some deaths are not socially legitimized or publicly mourned. Although they focused on examples like AIDS deaths in the 1980s and deaths from suicide and overdose, she realized that pet loss could also fall into this category.

“The tools we normally use to cope with grief and the kind of support we get when we grieve and lose people, we don’t get with (pets),” Golbeck says.

After the death of her cat Rupert, Virginia resident Page Shewey says some people didn’t understand why she was going through such a difficult time. As a result, she began to wonder if the intensity of her grief meant there was something wrong with her, or if she hadn’t properly grieved for the loved ones she’d lost.

“You don’t know what to feel,” Shewey says. “You think, ‘Shouldn’t I be so sad? Is there something wrong with me for being so sad after losing a pet?'”

Golbeck says one way to legitimize your grief is to find people who will take it seriously — even if that means stepping outside your usual circle. Demand for spots in support groups for grieving pets has skyrocketed, especially since the pandemic, and there are online forums for different types of pet loss. At the Association for Pet Loss and Bereavement, Crossley opens old-fashioned chat rooms daily for people to talk about their experiences.

When Lauren died, I spent hours online, scouring pet loss Q&A forums and Facebook groups for owners whose cats have been diagnosed with FIP. In the months following her death, just reading the comments section of a TikTok about losing a cat was able to calm me down a little from my emotional reaction.

Remember and move on

Even if no one but you recognizes it, Crossley says creating some sort of memorial or ritual to honor your pet can help process the loss, whether it’s building a flowerpot with the food bowl or keeping the collar. If being constantly reminded of your pet is painful—and you can’t bring yourself to pack up their belongings yourself—you might want to ask a friend or family member to haul the items away and donate them. (The Freifelds donated Ramy’s bed and were teary-eyed when the new owner sent a picture of their dog sniffing the fabric, presumably picking up Ramy’s scent.)

Crossley has also encouraged people who struggle with guilt to write a letter to their pet expressing everything they need their pet to know. Then write a response from the pet’s perspective, focusing on the ways the person created happy, healthy memories for both of them. The “what could I have done differently” feelings won’t go away immediately, but Crossley says forgiving yourself is the key to recovery.

“We used to call it closure, but now closure feels so final, like I’ll never think about it again,” she says. Instead, she recommends that people think of “resolution” as a goal in the grieving process. “In resolution, I ask people to answer: When was your pet happiest? Was it when you were angry and upset and crying, or was it happy when you were happy? To honor our pets, we can remember those happy moments and not feel so much pain.”

After Lauren died, I left her things as they were for a few days: her food bowl by my bedroom door, the syringe I’d used to force-feed her water on my dresser, toys scattered on the floor. In bed, I carefully shifted my legs and searched my covers for the dark lump that should have been at my feet. But eventually it got easier. The following week, I gathered up her things and put them in the attic, “just in case” I got another cat.

Less than a year later, I met Mouse, a tabby kitten who I have grown to love just as much as Lauren – just in a different way. I know losing him will be just as devastating. But as Golbeck says, “In exchange for a lifetime of love and good memories, we pay for the worst day of our lives.”