Coping with the Loss of a Beloved Pet: Our Journey

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“Maybe we should look online for advice on how to talk to her about this,” I said, my voice choked with emotion. “Surely, there are experts out there who can guide us.”

“Google might have answers, but it can’t tell us what we want her to believe,” my husband reassured me, gently. “That’s our job.”

The “her” he referred to was our three-year-old daughter, Lily. And he was absolutely right.

Earlier that day, he had taken our 14-year-old cat—Lily’s partner in mischief—to the vet. There were no glaring symptoms, just a few subtle signs that raised our concerns: she was eating less, losing weight, and there was something off about her demeanor.

A series of tests revealed the heartbreaking truth: multiple cancerous growths in her intestines and fluid surrounding her lungs. While a steroid shot could alleviate some discomfort and buy us a few more days, it was merely a band-aid for a much larger problem. It was time for us to say goodbye to her and allow her to spend her final days surrounded by family, including her two feline sisters and our dog, Max. (Yes, we named her Bella after a beloved character, but she ended up with an array of affectionate nicknames, including Belle-bear and just Bella to us.)

How was I supposed to navigate my beliefs about death when I was still grappling with my own feelings? Why hadn’t I thought about this sooner? I felt a wave of self-reproach wash over me.

Although my husband and I didn’t strictly follow a religious path, he had a Catholic upbringing, with a mother who taught religious education and a grandmother who attended mass regularly. Me? I could tell you about the day a nun kicked me out of Sunday school for asking about God’s own father.

While we celebrated holidays like Christmas and Easter, we didn’t delve deeply into religious teachings. Now, confronted with the impending loss of Lily’s cherished cat, we found ourselves at a crossroads.

Bella was not just a pet; she was family. Lily often greeted her before me when returning from preschool, calling, “Hi, Bella!” When she was a baby, Bella would curl up beside her, purring softly. As she grew, they shared countless cuddle sessions, with Bella even tolerating the occasional tiara and pearls during playtime. “What cat does that?” my husband and I would chuckle, knowing our other cats wouldn’t dare indulge in such silliness.

A few months earlier, we had briefly touched on the subject of death when Lily’s betta fish was discovered floating upside down. She was understandably upset, asking questions about what “dead” meant, and we tried to navigate the conversation gently. We explained that the fish could no longer live with us, and after a few moments, she seemed to move on, though it lingered in her thoughts.

When my husband returned from the vet, visibly shaken, we gathered Lily and Bella to share the news. “Lily, Bella doesn’t have a cold like we thought. She has something called cancer. Doctors can help with a lot of things—like colds and scrapes—but cancer is really tough to treat. We’re very sorry, and it makes Mommy and Daddy sad, but Bella is going to pass away soon. That means we have a few days to shower her with love and snuggles.”

I watched as Lily processed this, her bright brown eyes reflecting both confusion and concern, though they were quickly drawn to my tears. “Okay. I’m sad about that,” she replied, and we reassured her that it was perfectly okay to feel that way. Remarkably, she then spent the evening brightening our spirits with her cheerful antics, showing more empathy than I expected, as I struggled to hold back my own emotions.

Later that night, my husband overheard her softly telling Bella, “I’m sorry you’re going to be a little dead. The fairies will come for you soon, okay?” hugging her tightly.

After she went to bed, we found ourselves discussing possible ways to explain this to her. I realized that I didn’t have all the answers, and grieving while trying to stay strong for my daughter was challenging. There are countless resources available about pregnancy and parenting, but few prepare you for the heartbreaking moments like losing a pet.

To guide our children, do we first need to figure out our own beliefs? Perhaps. But what I do know is how much we love Bella, and that she will always hold a special place in our family’s heart. We’ll tackle this challenge as we have with every aspect of parenthood: with faith, a bit of humor, and maybe a prayer or two. After all, according to my grandma, Mary has quite the experience with guiding families. Perhaps she’ll lend us a hand.

In summary, facing the death of a family pet is an emotional experience, particularly for young children. As parents, finding the right words and coming to terms with our own beliefs can be difficult. Through love, support, and open communication, we can help our children navigate their feelings while honoring the memory of their beloved pets.