Last year, Barbra Streisand mourned the loss of her 14-year-old Coton de Tulear Samantha. Before she passed, Streisand’s vet collected cells from the inside of the pup’s cheek and the soft skin of her belly. She sent them off to a lab in Texas, fingers crossed, and months later, Streisand brought home a clone of her beloved Sammie.
Sometimes, saying goodbye feels impossible.
“It’s in the daily routines of feeding and walking and snuggling, and when you come in, and they’re going crazy ‘cause you’re home, that you develop an idea of your own life,” said Associate Professor of English Jennifer Jackson. “And it’s not selfish. It’s not about you.”
Last winter, Jackson mourned the loss of her part Llasa Apso, part Bassett Hound (and “all love,” she added) Dooky Chase, named after a soul food restaurant in the heart of New Orleans.
“I think [Dooky] connected me — I don’t think this is too broad a statement — this little, furry, messed-up mix, through soulful brown eyes, connected me to the Earth,” said Jackson.
Dooky relied on Jackson, and in a lot of different ways, Jackson shared, she relied on him as well — for comfort, laughter and unconditional friendship for the last 10 years. She likens Dooky to a “fireplace,” around which her holidays, her family and daily routines revolved.
“They want to be with you. It’s hard to get that from anybody,” said Jackson. “So, that becomes a part of the story, because allowing yourself to be loved like that — then you know that to love is to lose.”
According to Pew Research, 85% of dog owners regard their pet as a member of their family. So, it seems unusual, when this pet passes on, that we consider their losses fundamentally different from any other.
“In terms of how we experience things, there’s not a real difference in losing a pet versus losing a human being,” said Professor of Religious Studies Perry Hamalis. “But how society understands it can often be much more difficult for losing a pet.”
Psychologists refer to this experience as disenfranchised grief, where someone incurs a loss that isn’t “socially supported.” They, then, become isolated from circles that are maybe unwilling to acknowledge or validate their sorrow.
“I imagine some of our friends, too, might just be like, ‘Well, get over it, it’s just a dog,’ right?” said Hamalis. “And you’re just like, ‘What do you mean by that? That was a member of my family.’”
Jackson considers herself lucky to have been surrounded by dog lovers who sat and remembered Dooky alongside her as she grieved. Especially, because she also knows how excruciating it can be when those around us just don’t seem to empathize in the way we need them to.
“People who don’t get it are very painful, and I think you can’t teach them until they experience it,” said Jackson.
Hamalis is teaching a Religious Studies course called “Death & Dying” for the first time in the spring 2020 semester. The class explores the unanswerable questions, ethical dilemmas and various spiritual practices associated with dying.
“We still find death to be this extraordinary mystery,” said Hamalis. “On the one hand, it’s everywhere, it’s a guarantee, but at the same time, it’s something that we know so little about … so much of how people live seems to be based on what they believe about death.”
Jackson recently found love again in the form of a Rhodesian Ridgeback named Vivian. She adopted the 6-year-old in October of this year. After losing Dooky, she describes the reservations she had about opening her heart and home to another animal.
“There’s a freedom to not being bound to the house or bound to those routines that can make you heavier with responsibility,” said Jackson. “And I was enjoying my freedom and then I wasn’t.”
But Vivian has given Jackson and her family, once again, a new place to gather.
“She needs us,” said Jackson. “And we need her much more.”
When I lost my Guinness in June, I suddenly couldn’t remember what home felt like. I had never experienced grief that I could feel so deeply underneath my skin, like purple bruises that covered my arms and legs.
Last year, I read the story about Streisand and I remembered thinking that I could never feel comforted by a replica of my boy. He would feel too much like an imposter — an alien roaming the halls of my childhood home.
Of course, that was when Guinness was perfectly healthy. For years, I convinced myself that he’d outlive me and that I’d have to leave him, my most cherished worldly companion, to someone in my will. I’d have to note in big block print that he gets scared of beeping sounds and loves unwrapping gifts, that he needs constant attention and help getting up the stairs.
However, there I was, in the heat of a suburban Illinois summer, without Guinness for the first time since I was five-years-old, and I wanted him back so badly that I couldn’t even get out of bed in the morning.
People around me kept saying, “You’re going to find another dog that you love just as much,” as if Guinness was a broken appliance that I needed to replace immediately.
And then, eventually, everyone needed me to be alright more than I was capable of being so soon after losing a member of my family. My friends expected there to be an expiration date on my grief because I was grieving for a pet, but there was none. It was just always there — sitting in the pit of my stomach like an uninvited guest.
I realized that it wasn’t the feeling of having a dog that I missed. I missed my dog and everything about Guinness that made him so remarkable.
However, Jackson believes there is light at the end of the dark and dreary tunnel, precisely because we were able to love, and be loved by, our pets.
“The shock of falling in love, because I’m in a crush-mode of completely falling in love with Viv, is that you can do it again,” said Jackson. “That’s a gift they give you.”
