A personal reflection on grief, unconditional love, and learning to carry loss differently by Sam Conroy.

In March, I came back to a Highland Estate I’ve visited for most of my life.  A place so steeped in history, it’s woven its story into mine.  It’s actually my home away from home and over the years my animals have heard just about every tale from this place (it’s probably a good thing that animals can’t talk, as much as we would like them to!).  They’ve heard about its history too – it’s just one of those places where folklore is present everywhere! And as a family, we shared stories with many, many a glass of wine by the fire with a dog or two (or three!) at our feet.

And it’s not just the dogs that came here over the years.  Rabbits, Hamsters, Rats – they’ve all had their turn at exploring these grounds and hearing about its stories.    So it felt right to bring them back with me, the animals who loved me as fiercely and faithfully as I loved them and through so many chapters of my life.  I scattered their ashes around the estate, letting them rest in a place that holds so many of my memories – and it makes me smile, even now writing this, that they are running free in one of the world’s most beautiful places, in amongst the river, and the trees.

I’ve always believed that animals know us in a way that humans rarely do.  They do it without judgement.  They have no conditions.  They don’t care about the things that we think matter.  They don’t notice if we are wearing the same jumper three days in a row or if we are having a bad hair day.  They don’t mind if we are tired (well unless it delays their walk, obviously!) – or if we are feeling stressed or not quite feeling ourselves.  That just makes them stay closer and they love us anyway, and of course, we love them right back and probably more because of it.  They meet us exactly where we are, every single time.

So when they go, the silence they leave behind is enormous.  We grieve not just a companion, not just a furry part of our family.  We grieve the loss of something that’s been steady, and constant.  A simple uncomplicated, unconditional love, that’s asked nothing of us.  Just that we are simply there.

Animal grief is one of those things we often carry in silence, as we can sometimes feel it’s less valid than other kinds of loss.  But it isn’t.  It’s the ache of losing a companion who shaped our days.  Who gave us a routine and softened even the hardest of edges, loving us with such simplicity, us humans could really learn from it.  There is nothing silly or soft about mourning that.  In fact, I think it’s really brave.   It’s a real love and a real loss and it’s a pain we feel for a long time.

But it also carries a guilt, a guilt we don’t talk about enough and a part we again, often carry in silence.  Most of us will have had to make the horrific decision to end their life, and even though we know it was the kindest thing we could do, it still leaves its mark.  It’s an act of love that feels like betrayal, even though it isn’t.  It’s a trauma in its own right.  The weight of choosing compassion over our own heartbreak, a decision we make out of love, knowing it will break every part of our own heart.  And it does.  But it deserves to be acknowledged, just as much as the grief itself.  If you’ve felt that too, you are not alone, but maybe now, you’ll feel less lonely.

I really struggled until this year to take their ashes with me – Bailey, Goose, Titch, Brogan, Lenny, Stella and Dexter.  I think because Dexter was still really raw and recent and because it made it all so final and I had to face into that.  And if I’m honest it had taken me a long time to understand that a grief like this doesn’t just shrink because the world thinks it should.  It stays until we are ready to meet it.  And when we do, when we finally give it a place to rest, however that looks, it becomes a little less sore.

We learn how to carry that love, that unconditional love we felt, that little bit differently and we remember them fondly from the very depth of a heart they’ll always live.

About the Author

Sam Conroy is a celebrant, with Fuze Ceremonies and the Fuze Foundation,  whose love for animals is woven through every part of life.  Often jokingly referred to as “Dr Dolittle”, Sam is rarely without a collection of animals nearby, both at home and in the garden, where even the wildlife tends to find a warm welcome.

Passionate about the connection between humans and animals, Sam believes the grief we feel when we lose them reflects the unconditional love and companionship they brought into our lives.