Moving On after Pet Loss

My husband and I lost our soul-cat, Turbo, to liver failure in February. He was only five and a half years old. Without getting into it too much, we did everything we possibly could, and it was not enough.

To say we were devastated would be an understatement. We were heartbroken. It felt like our world had been shattered, like we’d never be happy again.

I contend that the death of a pet is one of the most visceral losses a person can experience. It doesn’t matter how; it doesn’t matter when. Losing a pet is hard and often traumatic. There’s so much guilt, second-guessing, and what-ifs. What if I saw the signs sooner? What if I got treatment sooner? What if I made the wrong decision?

In this article I will share how my husband and I navigated our loss, advice we found helpful, and things we did to process the grief.

The First Few Days

I won’t sugarcoat it. The first few days were hell. They were beyond horrible. The day Turbo died was the worst day of my life, the worst day of my husband’s life, and we have both been through some horrible things that I won’t go into here. I’d never cried like that before, and I’d never heard my husband cry like his heart had been ripped from his chest, either. Losing Turbo was the hardest thing I’ve experienced, and I have lost friends and family members. Losing a pet just hits differently. That unconditional love is something no human can give.

The day Turbo passed, I remembered a life protip I’d read somewhere: don’t watch your go-to TV show or movie when you are dealing with grief, because you will then associate said media with sadness. Instead, pick a show you’d probably never watch under normal circumstances, and watch that instead while you’re in the thick of it.

After taking care of his body, after crying and grieving together, we needed a distraction. We picked Dead to Me on Netflix, and wouldn’t you know it, it’s about two women brought together by loss. Call that providence or happenstance or the universe or what you will—it was very timely. Watching characters navigate their own loss made us feel somehow a little less alone. I couldn’t have planned that better if I tried. It became our show for the next few days.

The day after Turbo passed, my husband and I cleaned the whole house, top to bottom, just to keep moving. We rearranged furniture, put away holiday and winter decor, and overall reframed our space. I think that helped us both quite a bit—not just the activity of cleaning and moving our bodies, but reclaiming our home after Turbo’s passing. It was no longer the same space that Turbo once inhabited. It was slightly changed. I know it’s just a little psychological trick, but reframing our space slightly was necessary for us to start moving on.

For a few days after Turbo’s passing, we constantly had music playing. I cannot over-emphasize how much that helped us. To put it in my husband’s words, the silence had an attitude. Turbo was a very vocal cat, and the vacuum he left in our home was equally loud. Filling the quiet with music helped drown out that silence. To anyone going through what we did, I absolutely recommend throwing on some tunes. The silence is so loud otherwise.

I think the first few days are the hardest, and we were pretty much in survival mode. We got through it by taking it a day at a time.

Self-Care

Practicing self-care when you are going through a loss doesn’t necessarily look like yoga, pampering, or relaxation. Sometimes it looks like protein shakes, because you don’t want to eat, but you need sustenance, and a smoothie or protein shake is better than nothing. Self-care might look like curling up in a ball and sobbing and crying and letting the pain wash over and through you. I really cannot emphasize that enough: let yourself feel the pain. Let the grief run its course. I know it hurts and I know it’s hard, but bottling it up or avoiding it is the worst thing you can do. Trust the process. Our minds and bodies know what to do. Go with the flow and move through it. Don’t wallow, but let it happen. My father-in-law gave me some great advice in this regard: “Grief is not a destination. It is something you move through.”

Self-care can also look like a support group. I became very active in the subreddit r/petloss during the first few weeks after Turbo passed, and I still check in now and then. At first, I joined to be comforted, to have someone tell me it was going to be okay, that I was going to survive this. I needed someone to tell me that I would love our other two cats again and I just needed time, that I wasn’t a horrible person for feeling numb toward them. I needed someone to tell me it wasn’t my fault that our cat died.

Now, I tell others that it’s not their fault their pet died, that it’s normal to feel numb toward other pets when your heart is filled with so much pain. That numbness will pass. It helps me to help others, online and in person. I tell them they’ll get through it, that it’s going to suck monumentally but it will get better, little by little.

Self-care can look like helping others. Getting out of your own head and helping someone else really does do wonders. For me, that looks like volunteering at the animal shelter. I walked through the doors of Heart of Minnesota Animal Shelter as a shell of myself, brokenhearted and hurting. I needed to do something with all that pain. Hanging out with the cats at the shelter has been a balm to my soul. I’ve gotten to know these cats well, and I can answer many questions that potential pet guardians may have about their personalities. Helping these cats get adopted has been so rewarding, and my hours at the shelter are a bright spot in my week.

Volunteering, more than anything else, has been what helped me get back to myself. I don’t see myself quitting that anytime soon.

Beauty from Pain

I notice many beautiful things have sprung from Turbo’s passing. The grief drew my husband and me closer to each other. There’s something inherently vulnerable about going through the grieving process with someone else. We saw different sides other each other than ever before, and we were able to lean on each other through it all. Our relationship has gotten even stronger.

I have been able to be there for people in a new way. It’s like I leveled up my empathy. I have new words of comfort to speak to people both online and in person. I can give reassurance that the pain will become more bearable. It won’t go away, but it gets lighter. I can speak hope into the pain that others experience. I couldn’t do that before. Walking with someone through their grief is probably the best way to help them. Nothing you say can make it better, but you can make them feel that they are not alone.

Volunteering at the shelter is something I probably would not have done had Turbo not passed. I get to honor his memory by being part of something important and worthwhile. It is so rewarding to help shelter kitties find new homes. To be honest, though, I think they’ve helped me even more than I’ve helped them.

This isn’t a “silver lining” or “look on the bright side” attitude by any means. I believe that good can come from suffering, and looking for that good improves my outlook and keeps me from despair and regret. Finding the good that comes of hardship keeps my spirits up and helps me to have a positive view of life after Turbo.

That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t trade all of that to have Turbo back. But that’s okay. I’m only human, after all.

In sum, loss is hard, and it’s going to hurt. There isn’t a way to skip over the grief and the pain, but there are positive ways to navigate through it. I hope these tips help anyone else going through a difficult loss. Remember you’re not alone, and you will get through it.