Foreboding joy is a common threat to the unexpected joys that unfold in animal hospice

It’s fair to say that the past few months have resulted in a lot of unexpected things. A pandemic in the digital age has, as an example, allowed many people to remain at home in an effort to keep the virus from spreading, while still fulfilling their work duties. This includes the majority of my families. 

Though the boon of being able to be home and appreciate their home spaces more and share time with their pets, there has been a lot of discussion about how tough it’s going to be on pets when it’s safe enough for their humans are finally able to be back in their workplaces part- or full-time. Our animal friends have gotten used to the heightened level of companionship on nearly a 24/7 basis. The notion of separation anxiety developing is on the minds of many, including me. 

I do see there is a benefit, if I may, that has sprung from families being able to be home so much due to the pandemic: their being able to be more present than they might ordinarily be able to during a pet’s final months, weeks and days. Several of my families have expressed over the past few months that though they still need to tend to work responsibilities, having the unexpected luxury of not needing the hands-on care that I provide as an animal end-of-life doula has been the greatest blessing in the wake of a most-important time of their pet’s life. Outside of the pandemic, they’d not be able to be home nearly as much to devote the time and attention needed to dote on their beloved pet, not to mention being able to cultivate the space necessary for the mental bandwidth and physical energy that this kind of caregiving requires of families. 

They’re grateful that they are able to do it themselves. 

I will say that the most common refrain that I typically hear upon meeting with a family is that they feel an intense amount of guilt for not being able to ‘be there’ to handle all of the day-to-day care that their pet needs when they’re recovering from an illness or surgery—or worse, after a life-limiting illness or age-related decline that requires more intense caregiving. They want to do it all, but having a commute to and from a workplace, not to mention needing to be away from home for other obligations makes one feel understandably torn. My tending to things as skillfully and thoughtfully as the family would, and sending reassuring video updates to them is nice and all, but for them to be there as the caregiver... there’s no substitute. 

And yet what has surprised a few of them is an unexpected source of angst: thinking about how different things might look if we weren’t in the middle of a pandemic. 

If I couldn’t work from home? It scares me to think of how I might have to make decisions that are very different than the ones that I have so far, especially since that would mean forgoing some aspects of his care, or that I might have had to discuss euthanasia already. 

It’s always easy to go down the road of ‘what if’ and allow the moments of relief, joy and gratitude that often accompany the act of caregiving to be overtaken by a sense of apprehension during any given time. (Brené Brown does a fantastic job of articulating the concept of ‘foreboding joy’ in her body of work.) The feeling that the handle that you’ve been able to get on the routine, even when it does require tweaking, might become less sure. When you don’t sweat it so much on days when you’re able to spend extra time during breakfast on a rough morning to ensure that your fragile old dog gets all of his medication without your feeling too frazzled—and then the thought creeps in to your mind that if your usual tried-and-true tricks don’t work that one day, will that continue? That fear that like you’re not doing enough or you’re missing a sign that means your pet is ‘ready’, that would before times mildly tug on your psyche. 

These are all very normal expressions of the human condition when we’re caregiving a beloved pet who is edging towards their end. And during a pandemic, when we are already raw from the fallout of being out of routine, missing normal contact with our important humans, all-too-aware that this is a very unprecedented time—these expressions and laments are easily magnified and understandably so. 

Sure, things could be different. But they’re not. 

Yes, this pandemic has lent a mix of circumstances that might be allowing you to be way more physically, emotionally and mentally present for your ailing pet than you ever expected would be possible. Its okay to feel gratitude about that. Give your proverbial magnifying glasses a rest. 

Why?

There will be days when things don’t go so smoothly. Your situation could change where you can’t be as available to your pet and re-evaluating how you’re going to manage their palliative and hospice care would be necessary. And guess what? You’ll manage it. You’ll figure things out with regard to your pet, just like you have so many times in the past. And it’ll be okay. I promise you. This time of life with your beloved pet is soaked with enough destabilization, joy-stealing, anticipatory grief and uncertainty. Though it’s a collectively tempting habit in our culture, there’s no need to give that sense of foreboding an opportunity to cast an unwelcome shadow on an emotionally-rich period of life that can and should as be full of joyful moments, warmth and good memories, just the same. 

With over 20 years of experience in pet care, Lorrie Shaw is an Animal Hospice Palliative Care Practitioner, Certified Fear Free Professional–pet sitter and CXO of Telos Companion Animal Services, LLC. She can be found at lorrieshaw.com.

The out-of-order death of a pet poses brutal challenges

It’s not uncommon for me to be brought on board by a family to tend to their pet who has received a life-limiting illness or is experiencing age-related decline (in many cases, both)—and for them to have much-younger pets as well. The former tends to be the focus of my care and tending of course, but as any family in this situation will tell you, the other pets become just as much a part of the equation because they’re as much a part of the family unit. 

It’s no secret that the younger pets lend a sense of lightness to the overall situation and in themselves offer some respite from the day-to-day changes, decision making, monitoring of a pet who is in delicate health. In fact, I often remind my families that though the pangs of guilt that they experience from having fun with their younger pets and tending to their emotional and mental needs are completely normal, resisting that and setting time aside for play and all else can actually make them a better caregiver to that pet whose needs are increasing and abilities changing. 

I’ll admit, those interactions are good for me, too. 

I don’t think it’s lost on anyone whose pet has died after a long period of decline that the younger pet is a font of respite from the grief hangover that is experienced. The absence of medication regimens, tending to hygiene, the worry of getting home in a timely fashion to get an aging dog out to potty—yes, that is a welcome thing. The more carefree aspects of focusing on sharing life with a younger, healthier pet that we have a bonded relationship are definitely something to look forward to. 

And for some families, in the midst of caring for the pet in delicate health and all that is associated with it, their world crashes in. 

The usually robust, younger pet seems a little off. Or very much so. And then it’s revealed that they are in fact quite sick and a bigger conversation—one that blindsides—needs to be had. Perhaps, even, it’s an accident, or the negligence of another party that causes the unfolding of events. And then the beloved pet that was counted on to be a part of the family for years is then gone, not from memory, but sight and earshot and so many memories that will never be. 

The out-of-order death of a pet is especially brutal, just as it is with a human counterpart. Though I think in many ways, maybe more so: the representation that pets hold in one’s daily life can be much more tethered than other relationships. We often spend far more time thinking about and tending to the care of pets more than we might our human loved ones because pets inherently depend on us. And walking through the grief of a pet that died suddenly and far too soon all whilst navigating another pet’s terminal illness possesses a layer of difficulty that is unmatched. 

And so, that reliable buffer of being able to depend on the younger pet vaporizes. We’re left with emotions and grief that we didn’t expect to grapple with, and yes, confusing degrees of guilt often bubble up. It can be especially complicated having this unfold—contending with the usually stuffed-down anticipatory grief associated with knowing that we’ll be saying goodbye to one pet, and then of course living in a culture where the all-too-common accompaniment of disenfranchised grief is already so prevalent. The social interactions in our personal and professional lives can ride roughshod over us: the questions, comments and avoidance from others, well-meaning and not; the tone-deafness of the trauma that is so prevalent with these losses. This is of course married with, ‘how do I navigate losing the pet who is expected to die without my younger pet softening the blow?’.

So for those who are navigating the shock of an unexpected and life-limiting diagnosis of a younger pet, the sudden loss of another family pet sooner than you expected, grappling with how to grieve the loss of a pet that you at first blush thought would carry you through the expected death of another—you are seen, heard, acknowledged. This kind of loss and grief is very real and challenging to wade through. Know who the trusted parties are that you can confide in, and seek them out. And don’t apologize for taking custody of any kind of grief sooner than you might have expected. The out-of-order grief after a pet dies is as uncomfortable, confusing and gutting as any that is experienced. 

Lorrie Shaw is a Certified Professional Pet Sitter, holds a certification in Pet Loss and Grief Companioning, and is owner of Professional Pet Sitting, where she specializes in pet palliative and pet hospice care support. She's also a member of International Association of Animal Hospice and Palliative Care, Pet Sitters International, Pet Professional Guild, International Association of Animal Behavior Consultants (supporting member), National End of Life Doula Alliance and Ann Arbor Area Pet Sitters. Lorrie can be found at lorrieshaw.com. She tweets at @psa2.