Losing a Companion

So how do you deal with the passing of a loved one, or a companion?

The answer is....well, there really isn't one straight answer. I believe it's dependent on a lot of things.

I'll be focusing on the pet aspect. Prior to my cat, M, I haven't had any pets. Except a tank of goldfish. And as a kid, I learned that goldfish's life span did not last very long. But that's the thing. I never really had that connection with a goldfish. With a cat or dog, it becomes more on an emotional level and you get that sense of connection.

As a kid, I've always liked cats. I tried to like dogs but I was scared of them. Maybe because the neighbours had big dogs that looked intimidating. But maybe it was that intimidation that also made me liked cats. I'm not exactly sure. But I knew that I had (and still do) have the heart for cats. There was something about them that really drew me towards them.

I remember going to shopping malls and in some malls they have pet stores which allow you to touch kittens. As a kid, that was the most exciting thing about going to the mall: touching a kitten! Every time my parents took me to the mall, I had to go to the pet store and stare at the kittens. If I was lucky, I would pet one. But my parents wouldn't allow me to get one from the pet store. They had taught me that there are other kittens who look exactly like pet store kittens, but they are put somewhere else. And that somewhere else turned out to be a shelter. I remember asking what the difference was. Aside from price difference, the one that got to me was that those in the shelters are unwanted kittens. And in my tiny brain as a child, I thought what! That's so mean, why would people not want these kittens? Why would people just throw them there when they are tiny babies? What about their moms? It broke my heart. I knew I had to go and save one if that's what mattered.

You know what they say about kids? That they have some weird sixth sense that just can't be explained? It's sort of what happened too when I went to select a kitten from the adoption agency. On that day, there were some kittens but not a huge amount. After looking around, I didn't really see one that I felt connected to. But when that second round of kittens was delivered, I went to check it out again. I saw this tiny orange tabby that hid behind every kitten in that kennel. And for some odd reason, I chose that one. The other 3 kittens had their noses up against the cage, meowing in unison, as if saying "pick me!" yet that fourth kitten was the only one who did not say anything. Never uttered a meow. It just went to hide in the back.

And to this day, I can't explain why I chose him. Kids just know. But I'm so happy that I did. Because for almost 18 years, M brought us so much joy. He survived past the average life span of a cat. I have known friends who owned cats for barely 2 years before it passed. And they were so heartbroken. At that time, I kept saying to myself...I hope I won't ever have to go through something like that.

"That" is what exactly? I think part of it was dealing with the death of a pet. I mean yes, as a child, I believed that life in the physical form is temporary, but we all have souls that live forever. I knew my goldfish died and that was it. I had grandparents who also passed away, same with friends and family friends. But there's just something so different when you are so close with your pet, that when they pass away, you feel as if the whole world just crashed down on you.

And that's how the past 2 weeks or so has been. It really felt like my world came crashing down on me. All the plans that I had, the goals that I dreamt of, the Christmas plans for this year...they all came to a halt. I have never mourned for any human to this degree. I have never cried for a human for this long. I have never felt so heartbroken over a cat.

I believe the degree of mourning has also to do with how close you come attached to your pet. In my case, I was attached to M from day 1, which was 18 years ago. From the time I selected him, to the time he was brought home, to all the time spent playing with him, training him, talking to him, cuddling him, crying to him, celebrating with him...he became a little brother to me. And I felt that I had to protect him and take care of him. When you see your pet as a family member (even though they are not from the same gene pool), you really do feel that emotional connection with them. When you treat them well and love them like your own, they will feel it. And they will return that love to you.

Just like humans, pets get old and get sick. They may have to take medication for their condition or go in for expensive treatments or surgeries. As a pet owner, you do whatever you can to try and sustain their life. Because they are family. And you do whatever you can for family. Then there are times of regrets. If I had done this earlier, would they still be alive? If we had gone to this vet earlier, he wouldn't have had so much bloodwork done. The Ifs, Buts and Whens. Those still eat away at me every single day. Being in the health care field, I felt useless and hopeless that I couldn't do anything to save his life. I help other people that I don't even know to have a better life, yet I couldn't save M's life. People tell me he's had a long life, and in human years he would be close to 100. So he's had a great long life because of us. But that's the thing. Those very last hours of his life, I wish I could have done something to help him.

Which brings me to euthanasia. It's such a debatable topic, but in the end it really depends what your grounds of foundation come from. When pets are going through terrible suffering and end of life crisis, vets always recommend euthanasia. It just puts them out of their misery. If only pets could also speak. I wonder what they would say.

In M's case, he was going through congestive heart failure. CHF occurs in humans as well, and similar to lung cancer, there are 4 stages. Stage 1 being the "pre heart failure" phase which can be controlled via medications, diet and exercise, and then there's Stage 4, which is the final stage before either a heart transplant or palliative care. CHF can be controlled and maintained, but there is no cure, unless you go for a heart transplant, and even then there is no guarantee. In cats, it's similar that CHF can be controlled via medications. Unfortunately in M's case, the diagnosis of CHF was too late for him. He was already in Stage 4. No amount of medications would have helped him at this point.

Vets have the obligation to notify the families about various choices when it comes to situations like this. In M's case, it was either 1) do all the tests, monitor him overnight but can't guarantee if he will survive through the night or 2) euthanasia. The choice of surgery was not even mentioned, as the vet didn't think he would make it through the night, let alone surgery. So when you get that bombshell right in front of you at that moment, wouldn't you start freaking out? I know I did.

It's a bombshell because less than 24 hours ago, he was still walking and breathing fine. He was still eating and using the washroom. 12 hours prior, he didn't look so good, but after a Lasix shot, he looked better. And then gradually, I noticed he didn't look as good as before. By 8pm, he looked terrible. By 10:25pm, he passed away.

The vets and technicians involved in M's care saw and knew he wasn't doing so well, and he didn't have much time (although the vet estimated his maximum life span at that point was 2 days). But because they've seen many cases, bad or worse, they've always suggested euthanasia to put the pets out of misery. And they continued to push that on us, during a time when we were still trying to figure out what to do. When your emotions run very high at that point, you may not be able to think straight. So sometimes the vet's suggestions make sense at that point.

However, my family and I didn't feel it was right. Part of me still had hope he would make it through the night. I wanted to be with him one last time, if indeed this was the last time I got to see him. If we kept him overnight at the hospital, all of us would not be able to be there. Maybe one person, but wasn't a guarantee. The vet said he would call to update us on his condition during the night if that's what we wanted. But we didn't feel right leaving M there by himself. If he passed, he would pass away alone.

When I look back at our decision to bring him home versus leaving him there for the night, or euthanize him on the spot, I didn't look back at that with regret. Instead, I'm thankful that he passed away with his family surrounding him. And that he passed away naturally. We didn't need to speed things up, we didn't need to end his misery, and he didn't suffer for very long before he passed.

I just wished cats could somehow speak to us, as weird as it is. But it's that last moment, if you could only get that confirmation from them....a confirmation which says "I love you, thank you for doing this for me, instead of giving me the needle", then it would put me at ease. That it was the right thing to do, and that it would be easier to move on.

But to this day, I'm not sure if that was the "right" thing to do. Was I selfish for not putting him down? Was I too greedy for taking him home instead of leaving him at the hospital? Again, the ifs and buts continue to haunt.

The most important thing though is the promise that we were taking him home. If we had told him that and left him at the hospital, he would be heartbroken. But we didn't. We didn't break that promise. We promised him we were taking him home and we did. Even though he was in distress, he knew we were all there for him. And I believe that's why he passed so quick. He felt the love from us, yet he still fought hard to spend his last few minutes with us.

It's still not easy to this day, as our daily routine of 18 years has now changed. Everything in the house reminds us of him. From the grass to the basement, from the enclosure to the car...everything reminds us of him. There are no more wake up calls of meows (or in my case, M used to open my door to come and wake me up...but now my door remains closed), no more waiting by the front entrance to welcome us home, no more nails clicking against the floor when he walks, no more nagging us to open the door to get a whiff of fresh air, no more waiting for me to get out of the shower, no more changing food bowls. Now it's just....empty. And eerily quiet.

People say things do get better over time. It just takes time to mourn and grieve. But when you've had a pet companion that lasts for over half your life, it becomes really difficult. Especially when they have been in your life since childhood. The grieving process is where it will take the longest time. Hopefully in time, I will have accepted that M is now in a better place, away from suffering.