Distant or Dear?

We recently had our dog—in the prime of his life—suddenly die. He was only eight years old, and the model of health. We found his body in the woods, with no signs of harm, so we have no idea of the cause of his death. That mystery leaves a huge question hovering in the air—a question that is not likely ever to be answered. That nameless cause is unsettling, if not disturbing, and at times even haunting.

Over the last couple of weeks since his death, I have gradually come to accept the loss—now only having periodic moments of deep sadness come over me, rather than the shock and mourning I struggled with during the first few days. There are many moments in each day when my wife and I sorely miss his presence. In numerous ways he was truly a family member—despite being nonhuman. His absence hurts.

I have spent much time in contemplation and meditation, working through the experience and attempting to understand my various emotions and how appropriate they may be. How long does one mourn? When does dwelling on one's loss become an unhealthy obsession? What's the difference between grieving and feeling sorry for yourself? How soon can you expect to get over the death—whatever that means? How do you put into perspective the shock of the death of a beloved dog, compared to other losses you've had? Why does the pain persist, and when will it slip below some threshold that goes unnoticed for several days or more?

In the last few days I have come to realize that my dog's death has hit me harder than the death of some family members. How is it that I miss a canine friend more than a human who is related to me by blood? Am I being callous towards kinfolk, when I struggle more over the loss of a “mere” dog? These questions sit at the back of my mind, gnawing at my conscience at times.

There are two factors involved here, I believe: the affection and the care we feel for another being, due either to blood or proximity (or sometimes both). Some people would add another factor or settle the question easily: a human being is always worth more than an animal. That may be generally correct, but I long ago discarded such simplistic and hierarchical (if not racist) beliefs. Why should I care more about the death of a person I hardly know, than my beloved dog? Why should I care more about the death of my dog than a bird who crashes into my window and breaks its neck? Where do you draw the line?

It seems to me that proximity plays a significant role in how much I care. My dog was an integral part of my daily life. I interacted with him many times a day and our lives closely intertwined. How does that compare to when a cousin dies, who lives at a great distance and with whom I lost contact 20 years ago? Yes, I feel sympathy and sadness when I hear of the death of a migrant who perishes at sea, attempting to reach the relative safety of Europe. I feel a similar sadness when I hear about the death of that distant cousin. How do those levels of sadness compare? How should they? And why does the death of my dog hit me harder than either of these examples?

Each of us will respond differently to these questions. I don't believe there is a “right” answer that could apply for all of us. The feelings of loss and grief are very personal and situation dependent. Rather than seek answers, I believe it's more important to dwell with the questions and use them to probe our motivations and values.