The Guardians of Sorrow
By Julie Payne
Brady the beagle was only eight years old when we unexpectedly had to have him put to sleep. He woke up late one night shaking his head incessantly. I could see that his face was slightly swollen but decided to wait out the few hours until morning to take him to the vet. It seemed to be some sort of allergic reaction, maybe a bug bite. He was given Benadryl and sent home.
That night, a Saturday, because almost all animal emergencies happen when only exorbitant after-hours care is available, he developed serious gastrointestinal problems. The next few days resulted in one futile attempt after another to make him well again. After almost a week of veterinarian head scratching, it was determined that he had weak kidneys, and the inflictions and medications were more than his little organs could handle. The most humane thing was to put him down.
The vet spoke kindly and softly as he worked. The process was gentle, quiet, and methodical—as my heart split open with grief. The guttural sobbing that followed came from as deep a place of hurt as seems humanly possible. I not only grieved Brady, but my dad who passed the summer before, my old dog, Emerson, who Brady had been the welcome heart mender for, and layers and layers of scratched open sadness.
I began to ponder why the death of a pet is so uniquely lacerating. I have often heard people say, “I cried harder when my dog died than when I lost my mom.” Or “My cat died ten years ago, and I’m still not over it.”
Perhaps it’s because our fur-wrapped friends willingly offer unconditional love and unencumbered relationship. Pasts are forgotten, the future is not analyzed—now is all there is. No wonder grieving a pet is so searing. After all, that soft head is the one that soaked up countless number of tears—the nose that sniffed, the eyes that worried, the head that tilted, and the ears that heard the stories, the railing, the fears.
They are the guardians of our sorrows and champions of consolation. When they reluctantly leave their posts, the unwatched gates fly open and decades of despair spill through.
