The paradox of trust in animal hospice & pet loss support

There have been instances in my practice where, during a conversation, an individual who I’m providing pet loss & grief companioning support to expresses difficulty with all manner of issues not directly related to the distant, recent or anticipatory loss of their pet. It’s expected from time to time. And to some degree, it can be linked to the work we’re doing together. It’s often a fine line that I need to carefully consider & be honest with myself about, & so a little curiosity & reflective listening goes a long way. In some cases, its not blurry: the sticky wicket of something like the death of a human loved one, or maybe having a complicated relationship with a human loved one or experiencing conflicts in the workplace has clearly taken a place front & center for the pet guardian—which is actually a pretty common thing to happen when one is wading through the viscous territory of the grief surrounding pet loss, or feeling the effects heavy duty caregiving. Issues that are as significant as the loss of a pet have a tendency to want to come up for air & stretch their legs, too. It’s a deep cauldron. 

My first response is I see you. 

And then, after curiosity enables me to identify if what’s on the person’s mind is out of bounds, as I call it, I offer honesty. 

Because while my training & experience is extensive & well-honed, I’m not a mental health professional. Nor do I want that responsibility. 

There is a level of trust that the kahus that I’m connected to have in me, & sometimes, it’s astonishing, though it shouldn’t be. I’m in the midst of human beings who are navigating the harshest yet most loving of experiences & it lays their emotions bare. I’m often bearing witness to so much. I’m answering the call in the wee hours when something doesn’t seem quite right & next steps need to be sorted. I’m there when something I’ve suggested to try works & a pet guardian’s sense of mastery in caregiving is then bolstered. I’m pivoting & meeting families at the veterinary emergency hospital when something unexpected pops up. I’m in the room in the many instances where uncharted conversations are had with veterinary hospice interdisciplinary team members. And, pet guardians are dealing with other facets of the human condition that, with their big brains & big hearts can leave them raw, weary, vulnerable. Things that they express, like abandonment, poverty of spirit & time & love, conflict with others & themselves, guilt, inadequacy, shame, regret, anger, the absence of what makes them feel whole. 

I’m able to show up when it matters & in a way that resonates. That’s not something that everyone else in a kahu’s sphere can do. And when one is immersed in what feels like quicksand & they feel seen, heard, validated & supported in a way that can’t be found easily elsewhere, the trust that someone feels I’m entitled to is palpable.

But it’s important that I not let my experience & skill to allow me to get over-confident in my abilities. Nor can I allow that or a pet guardian’s trust in me to give me a false sense of license to operate outside of my professional capacity. 

Is the grief associated with pet loss a mental health diagnosis? Surely not. It’s an expected, natural response to a significant life situation. Even when it lingers, because it’s expected to. It’s not something to be cured, fixed, stigmatized or gotten over. It will never not disappear. It feels different as time goes by, & grows around us, & us around it. 

I have, on occasion, needed to be honest & gently reiterate that I’ll not be doing what’s in a pet guardian’s best interests by attempting to counsel them in exploring the other heavy stuff that shows up in our work together & is begging for oxygen. (That situation is no different than when a feature of the pet’s well being needs attention from the veterinarian’s perspective & I quite appropriately assess that’s the case.) And so when I refer a them to another veterinary interdisciplinary team member who does have the skill & professional framework to meet a feature of their needs that I inherently lack the capacity to, that doesn’t mean I’m judging the person in front of me. Nor is that an admission of failure on my part, in fact quite the opposite. It’s an act of due diligence in maintaining best practices for the mental & emotional safety of the kahu & myself. Of grace. Of compassion. 

Pet loss & grief companioning, when done really well, is therapeutic & yes, it’s an art. After all, it feels really good to have a safe space to put our words & feelings & emotions, to really be seen & without judgement when we’re grappling with the death of a pet. And it’s no substitute for mental health support when that is needed. 

With over 20 years of experience in pet care and the past 12 of those focused on animal hospice, Lorrie Shaw is a Certified Animal Hospice Practitioner, Certified Hospice Palliative Care Advocate, and pet loss & grief companioning certified since 2017. She is founder of Telos Companion Animal Services, LLC & can be found at lorrieshaw.com.