Animals and the Afterlife (41 page)

(It should be noted here that I’m not condemning taxidermy. In fact, I’m in no position to comment, as I’ve never had it done with any of my own companion animals and I don’t know very much about it. However, in the case of a child, I can certainly see how this might add to the confusion of facing death for the first time.)

When my niece, Monica, lost her first guinea pig at around the same age as the above-mentioned little girl, she, too, was confused as to why her little friend was so stiff and still. So, her parents took her out to a beautiful setting where they buried the guinea pig and explained that his body was being returned to the earth but his spirit was being released to Heaven. Monica cried as they buried his body, and she asked why they were leaving him there when they turned to leave; but then, in the act of leaving, she began to understand. She knew that if his spirit was still in his body, they certainly wouldn’t be leaving him there. They were leaving his body behind, just as
he
had done, because he no longer needed it. He was now able to soar in spirit without it. And Monica was able to move forward, to let go, and eventually, to love another guinea pig just as much as she had loved the first one.

I think we all need that ceremony, that point of reference that clearly defines for us that our loved one has moved on to the spirit world. They no longer need their body, and that’s okay. I don’t think there are any rules that clearly define what this rite of passage should look like. Some people bury their beloved animals; others have them cremated; others perhaps make choices I’m not even aware of or don’t know enough about to comment on. People have asked my advice on this subject. I feel that it is a very personal choice, and I suggest that people do whatever feels right for them and their beloved animals.

I was once contacted by a man named David, a foreign language translator from Maryland, who told me he had been troubled for a long time by the fact that he’d had all of his beloved guinea pigs’ bodies cremated, but he didn’t feel that he could really talk to anyone about it. He was really bothered by the idea of having his special little friends’ bodies destroyed and reduced to ash. However, he just didn’t know what else to do. He’d had guinea pigs for years and, since guinea pigs have relatively short lifespans, had lost quite a few of them already. He didn’t want to bury them in his yard because he figured he might move eventually and wouldn’t want to leave them behind. He knew there were pet cemeteries, but this wasn’t something he could afford.

So, cremation seemed the only option. He felt guilty every time he took one of their bodies to the crematory, and he told me he hoped the spirits of his precious pigs understood why he had to do this. He did appreciate that the people at the crematory were very nice and compassionate. He said they did everything in a dignified way and tried to make it all as nice as possible under the circumstances. With cremation, he figured that eventually the ashes could go with him when he someday died, too. He had the ashes in separate little boxes with name plates, and he kept them on a special table in his living room. That way, he told me, he felt that they were still close by. He still had such love for each of his precious guinea pigs and said he felt they were still around even though they were cremated. I couldn’t agree more.

I have so much respect for people such as this man, who are so incredibly loving and compassionate toward animals that their compassion and concern continue even after the animals have died and returned to spirit. I feel that the way he chose to handle their remains and to honor them was absolutely perfect and beautiful, and he had no reason to feel guilty whatsoever.

G
UILT IS AN EMOTION
that those of us who love animals seem to feel quite often, especially surrounding the death and dying process. I’ve always felt that guilt is a very important and necessary emotion, as it helps us to distinguish right from wrong, and when we make genuine mistakes, it helps us to make better choices in the future. However, guilt is also a highly misused emotion, and it seems that those with the highest level of compassion most often tend to aim it at themselves unfairly. I find that those who do the most good in the world often blame themselves the most when something goes wrong.

When guilt is
justified,
it’s important to honor the guilt, learn from it, and vow to do things differently the next time we’re faced with a similar situation. However, once we’ve acknowledged the guilt and truly learned from it, it’s time to release the guilt and move forward. Usually there’s a lesson in it so that we can make better decisions in the future, or else the tragedy is turned around by becoming a catalyst for something positive. We always get a chance to “make things right” in the end.

When guilt is
unjustified,
which is usually the case when we lose a beloved animal, we need to quit being so darn hard on ourselves! If we choose not to euthanize, we blame ourselves for letting an animal suffer too long. If we do euthanize, we blame ourselves for giving in too soon and we wonder after the fact if perhaps something more could have been done. If we don’t take an animal to the vet and feel after the fact that we probably should have, we beat ourselves up for this; if we do and they die, we blame ourselves for not keeping them at home. I’ve lost many dozens of beloved animals in my lifetime, and virtually every time, I’ve absolutely tormented myself with unnecessary guilt somewhere along the way. I think perhaps we all do that to a degree.

It’s important to remind ourselves that hindsight is perfect and foresight is not nearly so reliable; and that we truly did the best we could at the time, even if it doesn’t seem that way after the fact. Meanwhile, our departed companions are very much alive and well in spirit. It was only a body that gave out. It was their time to leave the physical form, and that is something we ultimately don’t have any control over. They know we love them and did the best we could in each moment. We always second-guess ourselves after the fact. It seems our minds almost try to
invent
ways to blame ourselves for the passing of a loved one. However, it’s not based on reality, and we should all learn to be more forgiving of ourselves.

Along with caring and caretaking comes extreme responsibility. Sometimes, along with responsibility comes agonizing decision-making. In decisions of euthanasia, sometimes we genuinely don’t know what to do. It’s the animal’s life, so we feel that the decision is ultimately up to them, but sometimes we truly can’t discern what they want. In this situation, it is often helpful to seek the assistance of a qualified animal communicator who can help to check in with the animal and determine what he or she truly wants. If this isn’t possible, all we can expect from ourselves is to make the best decision we can in each situation. As long as we come from a place of love and compassion, we have no reason to feel guilty after the fact,
regardless of outcome
.

“If only I had known, I would have held him/her to the end.” I often hear this comment spoken by those in grief, and I’ve certainly said it myself. Very often, our loved ones die just after we leave the room, even if we’re only gone for a moment. Then we torment ourselves with “if onlys.” We feel that we’ve let them down in some way by not being there. Very often, we’re not there because we’ve left the room to get something that we hope will make a dying animal more comfortable; or we have to go to work; or we’ve gone to take a twenty-minute nap because we’re utterly exhausted after sitting up with them day and night,
and that’s when they leave
. This can be devastating. It’s important to remind ourselves that we had no negative intention in not being there at the moment of death. Truly, if we
had
known—and
could
have been there—we
would
have been there.

I’ve come to understand that, actually, animals will sometimes intentionally leave when we’re
not
there. If we’re so distraught over their approaching death that we beg them to stay (whether verbally, telepathically, or with our body language), they have a very difficult time leaving us; so they sometimes wait until we step away, and then they leave. Rather than feeling guilty over not being there, it is helpful to acknowledge that perhaps we’ve assisted them in letting go of a worn-out body that they were no longer comfortable in.

I recall when our beloved Julian made his transition. He was an extremely affectionate and handsome black rat with a white underbelly and a sweet expression. He looked like a little otter. During his final days, I held him almost nonstop. During his final hours, I carried him around and told him how special he was. I felt compelled to hold him in front of a mirror, and as the two of us gazed at our reflection, I said softly, “That’s you, and that’s me.” He just stared into the mirror and turned his head as he looked from my face to his own reflection.

Then Jameth entered the room and showered Julian with affection. Shortly thereafter, Julian began to stir uncomfortably, so I got the feeling that I should put him back in his little bed in the Rat Room. I settled him in and gently told him once more how much I loved him.

When I went in to check on him a short while later, his body was still. He had died. I beat myself up for not having held him
just a little bit longer
.

Then it occurred to me that I had put him back in his bed because he had
asked
me to. He had died the way
he
wanted, not necessarily the way
I
wanted. I was beginning to realize that there is sometimes a difference between the two. As I cried over his lifeless body, I suddenly looked up. I felt his spirit hovering above me and I said softly, “That’s you, and this is me.”

D
EATH IS TRULY ONLY PAINFUL
for those of us who are left behind. Death, which is often a
release
from pain, is actually a beautiful experience for those who return to spirit … and it is certainly not the end. It is simply a transition. We need to remind ourselves of this. If we wish we had just said “I love you” one more time, it’s never too late. We can speak to them in spirit, and they
will
hear us and understand. (This can sometimes seem incredibly difficult to believe for those of us who are left behind and feel so alone, but experience has repeatedly shown me that this is absolutely true.)

We need to do our best to release the pain and guilt—not to cover it up or suppress it, but to truly face and come to grips with it—so that we can then focus on the love and happy memories instead. Sometimes it is necessary to seek outside help in doing so. If we know of others who are grappling with overwhelming grief, it is important to offer our support and assistance, and if necessary, encourage them to seek outside assistance as well. This assistance can take the form of a qualified grief therapist, pet loss support hotline, animal communicator, medium, friend, support group, workshop, or even a book, tape, or CD.

J
UST AS HUMANS FEEL GRIEF
over the loss of a loved one, so too do animals. If there are other animals in the household, it’s important to acknowledge their grief as well. Although they don’t always show grief the same way we do, they very much feel it. I encourage people to give the other animals in the household plenty of TLC (tender loving care) and to work through the grief together with them. They need to mourn, too, and the process of mourning together can be very healing. It can be extremely helpful to have a “heart-to-heart” with them—to tell them what happened, to cry with them, and to reminisce about the departed animal.

It may be helpful to seek the assistance of a professional animal communicator to check in with the remaining animals, to help them understand what happened to their friend, and to assist them with their own grief. I recall that when Jonathan died, the remaining rats in the household went through a period of deep mourning. For the first few days, they looked all over the house for him. After they realized he was gone, they moped around for a time, clearly upset at the realization that he wasn’t coming back. So I worked with a professional animal communicator to help them through the grief, and this made a world of difference for them.

Now, whenever there is a loss among my beloved animal family, I take the time to tell the remaining animals what happened and to reassure them that everything is going to be okay. I let them know I understand that they are hurting—and that I’m hurting, too—but in time, the hurt will heal. This is something we can all do, whether we enlist the help of a professional animal communicator or not.

Many professional animal communicators offer workshops, and they assure us that telepathic communication is something we
all
can learn to develop, whether through professional training or diligent practice on our own. It’s extremely helpful to learn to connect with our beloved animal companions in this way. Basically, it involves clearing the mind and focusing on the animal. We can ask them questions (in our mind) and then listen (in our mind) for answers.

At first, we may not get anything, or we may get something that we dismiss as obvious or that we feel we are making up. On the other hand, we may actually receive valid information, so it’s important not to ignore anything that comes. With practice, we can learn to discern which thoughts are our own and which are truly telepathic communications. As with anything else, some people have an easier time learning this than others. For some, it’s an inherent gift, and for others, it’s a skill that must be learned and refined.

B
ECAUSE OF MY WORK IN ANIMAL RESCUE
, and because the majority of the animals in my care have been rats, who only live for a few years, I’ve been given many opportunities to face loss. Since pets are often abandoned or relinquished when they become old or ill, the Rat Refuge has been called a “rat hospital” or a “nursing home for rats.” I do try to find good homes for the young, healthy arrivals, but the old and ill rats always stay. In a sense, it’s like running a hospice for rats.