Dogs are a man’s best friend, and a woman’s for that matter. So it’s only natural that dogs and grief go hand in paw.

You may have heard of Greyfriars Bobby, the Skye Terrier who guarded his owner’s for 14 years until he died.  There’s even a statue of him in Edinburgh.

Love and devotion work both ways.

Grief Spaniel

I decided to get a dog a year after my son Fred died. Strictly speaking, I nagged and cried at my husband for months until he eventually caved.

Dustin arrived.

I had a new focus and somewhere to put my time and energy. We always joked that Fred was part boy, part spaniel, and it felt good to inject some joyful chaos back into our lives, even if that did mean we couldn’t take our eyes off him and needed several emergency vet appointments.

Dustin brings joy and comfort. He is delighted to see me every morning and always eager to please. But he is a gentle, calm spaniel when he needs to be. On bad days, he climbs onto the back of the sofa and drapes himself across the back of my neck to rest his head on my shoulder.

He comes to work with me and it was a non-negotiable when I decided on an office (thank you Jo and Becky). I used to turn down in-person meetings if Dustin couldn’t come. I pretended that it was because he was a puppy and couldn’t be left but really it was me that needed the emotional support animal.

Rainbow Bridge

So what happens when our pets die?  Should we take time off work?  How much grief should we allow ourselves, and each other?

When we think of bereavement, we tend to think of close relatives, spouses, children, grandparents; maybe a friend. However, the loss of a pet can be devastating.

That is not to compare it like for like to other significant losses. I winced when a friend said she knew how I felt when Fred died because she’d just had her dog put down … but on the other hand, I completely get it. You may not need a day off for the funeral, but pain is pain, and loss is loss, whoever it is that we loved.

There are losses that rearrange the world. – Megan Devine

It is not the blood relationship that affects how we grieve, but the part they play in our lives, both in our day-to-day routines and what they represent.

A dog plays such a huge part in our every day, that they leave a massive hole. The daily routine of walking, feeding and having their constant companionship can’t be underestimated. Long gone are the days when our dogs were just chattels to catch rats or retrieve game (well socks maybe) and we give them our hearts.

Many people have dogs to help them through all manner of difficult losses, whether loneliness, illness, infertility, grief.

The job dogs still excel at is therapy. It’s a proven fact that owning a pet improves our mental health, whether that’s getting us out of the house for a long walk, or being pleased to see us when we get home.

They give us more than many people in our lives.

When we lose a pet, our mental health can easily take a downward turn and we need people to look out for us and give a little extra care.

Loss Upon Loss

If you are bewildered why someone has taken the loss of their pet so badly, bear in mind that grief is cumulative. You don’t know what other people are already carrying.

Many years ago, I watched a documentary about the children of Dunblane. A man was interviewed whose only daughter Sophie was killed that day. Just a few years earlier his wife had died. A cat sat on his lap. It’s an image that has stayed with me and I remember turning to my friend and saying that I hoped everyone in the town was dedicated to protecting that cat. You can could see that it was only holding him together.

The loss of a pet can open the floodgates to all sort of things that they have been guarding.

Fred’s cats are now 12.  Although currently in fine fettle, I know that I will be devastated when they die, and it won’t just be because of the cats.

Pet policies

I am not for a moment suggesting that everyone should automatically get the day off when the guinea pig dies (no offence to guinea pigs), but it’s vital that organisations and managers look at each person and their situation, rather than a tickbox to decide who counts in our lives and who doesn’t.

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If you’d like to talk to me about my 60-minute Grief In The Workplace training, then you can book a call with me here. https://calendly.com/armadillosocial/grief-in-the-workplace

It’s Grief Awareness Week from 2nd to 8th December, which is the perfect time to have these conversations with your teams.

3rd July is National Bereaved Parents Day. Organised by A Child of Mine , it was set up in 2020 to raise awareness for all parents who have lost a baby or child of any age, and from any circumstance.

All grief is painful, and some of these words might resonate with any grief, but the death of a child brings with it particular fear and discomfort that can be hard to overcome. We don’t even have a word for it, in the way that widow or orphan can be used.

Being a bereaved parent can be a lonely place, grieving a person you have lost but also a future they, and you, will never get to have. It doesn’t matter how old that child was. It can feel like living in two worlds at once: the world your child was in and the world your child is not.

A year after my son Fred died, I wrote an article about the rawness of grief. Three years later, as we are now settled in for the long haul, there are some other things that I, and other bereaved parents, would like you to know.

It really is as bad as you think.

“I can’t imagine how hard it must be.”  Oh, I think you can. But most people don’t want to or pretend that they can’t. But you can, if you try.

It is a grief that consumes every cell of your body and remains there forever.

People often want to empathise with their own grief, but it’s not the same. To quote Rob Delaney, “Don’t come at me with your dead grandmother”. It is not to disrespect or minimise your grief, or your love, but they are different.

That’s why bereaved parents often find solace in each other. There is a quiet understanding of how our world is, without drama.  Just like when you buy a goldfish and have to keep it in the polythene bag for a bit, we instinctively know the temperature of the water, and that can be everything.

Everything is harder

“Look closely & you will see almost everyone carrying bags of cement on their shoulders.

That’s why it takes courage to get out of bed in the morning & climb into the day.”

Edward Hirsch

This is true of all grief, but the bags on the shoulders of bereaved parents are particularly heavy, and sometimes the straps really hurt or break completely.

Everything we do, even the good stuff, is just a little bit more tiring, and takes a little more effort than it would otherwise do. We get tired, we can have too many people, we need to rest.

Christmas, birthdays, holidays, weddings, funerals, not to mention the everyday business of living, all have an added sharp edge to it. It doesn’t get easier, but we get better at carrying it.

It’s hard being the bad fairy at the christening all of the time, feeling like people would rather not have you there, killing the mood and reminding them that the world is not fair.

The best thing you can do is accept that things might be hard for us but keep inviting us anyway. These things are difficult for us whether we show up or not, whether you mention them or not; it’s only you who is suddenly faced with our pain and is uncomfortable.

Let us light our candles, cry through weddings or leave birthday parties early.

Don’t say we are strong,

Actually, do, because it’s good to say nice things, and it comes from a good and kind place.

Some days, it really does take superhuman strength to climb into the day (see above), but all of us would give anything not to have to. We don’t want to be strong, resilient, or amazing; we just want our old lives back when we didn’t have to be.

Certainly, don’t say “I couldn’t do it” because you could if you had to, but you don’t and we both know that.

It’s complicated.

Let us talk about our children

The kindest and most supportive thing you can do is let us talk about our children. Not about how they died but how they lived.

We want to talk about our children just as much as other people: the funny things they did or said, what they were like, what we were like.

There is a fear that if you mention them or we talk about them, we’ll remember and be upset. But we’re thinking about them all of the time, so it is a tremendous gift to know that other people think of them too, and know who they are.

The hardest question to answer is “how many children do you have?”

I don’t tell everyone about Fred the moment I meet them, but if someone asks how many children I have, I have to say two and then explain. It’s taken years to work out an answer, and people often ask the question in different ways, which sometimes throws me. However, the best people take this information in their stride, say that they are sorry and ask more or carry on as normal, depending on the situation, rather than recoil in fear and horror, or run away.

Our lives aren’t terrible

In many ways, our lives are terrible and will never be made right.  There is no getting over it, or coming to a point where it’s not that bad.

However, it doesn’t mean joy and happiness can’t sit side by side. In many ways, the sadness amplifies the joy. We laugh. We sing a little louder at karaoke (although for a long time I couldn’t sing at all), we love a little harder. I appreciate small glimmers of happiness more than I did before, even if it’s just a good sky. And I’m very relaxed about my younger son’s exam results because they really aren’t that important in the grand scheme of things (although don’t tell him that).

It is not a terrible life, it is our life, and we live it the best we can. We would all still rather have our children for a short while than not at all, and we are all grateful for the imprint they have on our lives.

I don’t speak for all bereaved parents, but I am thankful to the ones in my life who provide solace, comfort and understanding, and I hope I am able to do so in return.

When my son died, suddenly, people didn’t know what to do with me.  I had to navigate my return to work and deal with colleagues, clients and contacts. It was tough. Most people were lovely, and then there was that one client who never replied to my emails again.

Grief is universal, and yet, somehow, we are expected to leave our grief at home. Two million people in employment suffer intense grief every year and over half say their performance. Many of those find things in the months and years so difficult that they leave, either for another job, or leave the workforce entirely.

Imagine if we treated grief as an everyday stage of life that needed our understanding and support. Consider how much we give in maternity and paternity leave, and then consider that only recently has it become law that 1 day’s compulsory bereavement leave should be given for the death of a child.

The problem with grief is that we often can’t predict where it is going to strike. We can plan for menopause awareness or put measures in place to prevent mental health issues from escalating, but no one can protect us from grief, wherever or whenever it may appear

We can’t predict what someone will need either, as everyone copes in different ways. 

However, with some preparation and careful thought, we can ensure that everyone feels supported when the worst happens.

1. The immediate aftermath.

How long someone needs to take off may vary significantly. Some people may want to get back to work straight away, others may need longer.  However long that may be, it will need discussion, agreement and management. It is also important that people know how to deal with someone when they do return to work. People are often scared of saying the wrong thing, but it’s worse to be ignored or overlooked.

2. Adaptions and Adjustments

Grief, particularly intense or complicated grief, can take a long time to recover from. It is not a case of a couple of weeks compassionate leave, then back to work and hoping you don’t cry at your desk. Grief is not a mental health condition, but they can result, especially if support is lacking. Grief can take a physical and mental toll for some time. It can be likened to a brain injury. I couldn’t remember things unless they were written down, I lost things and became incredibly tired very quickly. I could be around people, but only in short bursts. I could still work, but needed to make some adaptations and build in time for rest and recovery. On top of that are the secondary losses. Finance, housing, health and relationships can all take an additional toll.

3. Long term recovery

There is no getting over grief, it fundamentally changes a person. We don’t heal in a linear fashion, and there may be times when grief rears up again, like an overwhelming wave.

There can, in time, be positive changes, too, although everyone would rather it was different.  People may find a new purpose, new direction or just need a change of scene or routine. A good manager will be able to work with them to help them develop.

None of this can happen without open and honest conversations about grief, how we deal with it and how we can support each other in our time of need. It isn’t good enough to mumble through, claiming we weren’t prepared.

Compassion, thought and planning can mean the difference between sinking and swimming.

If you’d like to discuss how a session could benefit your team, you can find out more at here or email louise@armadillosocial.com