Bereavement Specialists Grieve Too

I got up to grab a handful of tissues. I was not going to lose it. Why is this so hard? I tried not to focus on Sandra’s quiet tears a couple of feet behind me.  Timmie the Cat was in her arms. He was sick. The vet said it was “probably bad” and offered an array of tests to differentiate her diagnosis. She did say Timmie was suffering. Why is this so hard?

Timmie grew to be the big cat of our feline family. He looked almost double the size of his mom, Mimmie. His brothers Billie and Willie are also big, but Timmie is a plump and comfortable soul.  He loved his food. And he loved to fall over with a thump and lad in a clump of black and white kitty fur with a couple of layers of fat blocking whatever path he decided was his. He never was energetic but always found where Sandra was sitting or sleeping to nest on her head.  His purr made his comfort clear to anyone in the house. Sandra called him her sucky cat. Why is this so hard?

He was eleven years old. Not old for a cat. But over the past few weeks, he quit eating and did not drink much, and that big cat bod began to shrink. He managed to get around, but it was clear that just moving was becoming a big effort as days went by. He would stare out the window, not react to the birds outside. He purred when he was petted, but his gaze let us know he was not all there. Why is this so hard?

Most of my 40+ years of ministry have been walking with folks through the valleys of the shadows of death.  My position title now is Bereavement Specialist with a hospice. I have been with those watching as their mom or dad died. I have been with moms and dads watching their children die. Sandra and I have grieved together as our parents have passed. Why is this so hard?

We talked about what the vet said. We could hospitalize Timmie. They would do lots of testing and treat his symptoms. But the outcome would be the same. Timmie was curled up in Sandra’s embrace, purring as only he could. The vet said she would give us some time. Time was suddenly a precious thing with this fur ball that was so much a part of our lives. Maybe we could take him home and keep him comfortable? And what, watch him waste away? Why is this so hard?

The decision was the right one. Euthanasia, a good death, is what Timmie deserved. And there I stood, using Kleenex as an excuse, trying to will myself to open the exam room door and tell them what we had decided.  It was the right thing to do. Why is this so hard?

Timmie died peacefully in Sandra’s arms. As we hospice people would say, his family was present and was grieving appropriately.  The vet’s staff had done this before; that was clear. They offered us a path out of the clinic where no one would see our tears, but first, we had to “settle up.” The bill was paid. Our love for Timmie was worth much more than that – but it was hard.

We got home and had a toast to Timmie. We held his cat mom, his brothers, and his poodle antagonist. That was more to comfort us than them.  And then it was time for the evening ritual – we call it yummy yum time. I grabbed the kitty treats and began the role call. Billie, Willie, Mommy Kitty, Tim… And then it hit hard. Timmie was gone. Why is this so damn hard? I hope the rainbow bridge took him to snacks he could never imagine.

Because that is the price of love. The minute love blooms, whether for a person, a pet, a job, or anything, there is one guarantee. A day will come when we have to say goodbye. I am a bereavement specialist. I help people wrestle with that pain every day.  And through their tears, they ask why is this so hard.

Timmie, thank you for the joy you brought us. And thank you for these tears. They are the price of love. And I need to be reminded of that.