Anticipatory grief – when the farewell begins before the farewell
Many people think that grief begins at the moment of losing a beloved companion. However, there are situations when grief appears in our lives months or even years earlier. This is what we call anticipatory grief.
When we learn that our beloved dog is living with an incurable disease, we cross an invisible line. From that day on, we no longer look at the future the same way. A thought that we once believed distant becomes part of our everyday life: one day we will have to say goodbye.
The moment of diagnosis often feels as if time stands still. One feels shock, disbelief, fear and profound sadness all at once. Hope disappears. The questions circle endlessly in our minds:
How much time do we have left together?
Are they suffering?
Am I making the right decision?
What more could I do for them?
How will I survive this?
Most of the time there are no certain answers to these questions.
Living in the shadow of loss
One of the hardest parts of anticipatory grief is that while our beloved companion is still with us, we already carry the pain of loss as well. We try at once to rejoice in every day spent together, while dreading the moment the last one arrives. Every morning becomes a gift. Every evening carries uncertainty.
Many know the feeling of checking, one more time before going to bed, whether their dog is breathing properly. Of waking in the middle of the night, their first thought being whether everything is all right. When photos pile up by the hundreds on the phone, because we are afraid that one day we will not be able to take any more. This constant state of alertness is extremely exhausting. Not only physically, but emotionally too.
The roller coaster of hope and fear
Anticipatory grief rarely moves in a straight line. There are days when the dog is better. Moves more, is more curious, more cheerful. At such times hope reappears. Then comes a worse day. A new symptom. A fall. A harder time getting up. And fear takes over once again.
This continuous emotional swaying is extremely burdensome. Many owners feel as if they were happy and sad, hopeful and desperate all at once. This is completely natural.
The grief that others do not always see
Anticipatory grief can be especially lonely. The outside world often sees only that the dog is still alive. That is why it is often hard for them to understand why we are already sad, exhausted or anxious.
Yet the loss is in fact already present. With every lost ability, we say goodbye, little by little, to the life we once knew.
We say goodbye to the long walks. To the running around. To those small, everyday moments that we once took for granted.
When the farewell arrives
Many people think that if someone has prepared for the loss over months or years, they will bear the death more easily. The reality is often the opposite.
Anticipatory grief does not take away the pain of loss. It does not fully prepare you for the emptiness that follows the farewell. Losing a beloved companion hurts just as much even then.
The silence hurts just as much. The empty bed hurts just as much. The absence of the familiar daily routine hurts just as much. Anticipatory grief only means that a part of the pain began earlier.
If you are going through this too
If you are reading this because your dog is living with an incurable disease, I want you to know:
You are not alone.
Your fear is normal.
Your sadness is normal.
Your exhaustion is normal.
It is also normal if sometimes you hope, and at other times you fall completely apart.
You do not always have to be strong.
You do not have to live every moment perfectly.
You do not have to feel guilty for being tired.
Love them the way you always have.
Be by their side.
Give them as many beautiful days as you can.
And when the time for farewell finally comes, remember that the love you gave each other does not end on that day.
Love lives on in the memories, in the stories and in every little thing you received from them.
And although the absence stays with us forever, so does the love.
The hardest decision, which is unavoidable with this disease
For more than a year after the diagnosis, I had to live not only with the worsening of the disease, but also with another thought that was in my mind every single day.
One day I will have to make that decision.
I imagined that moment many times. How will I know that the time has come? Will I be able to do it? Will it be too soon? Will it be too late?
For more than a year my heart carried this burden. I thought that when the day came, I would be full of uncertainty. But in the end the disease decided for me.
One Saturday morning Opi's condition suddenly took a turn for the worse. Degenerative myelopathy had reached her breathing as well. Until then there had always been questions, hopes, better and worse days. But this was now a different situation.
This was the point where we could no longer comfort ourselves with the thought that maybe tomorrow would be better. This was the point where love had to take a different form.
The next morning the veterinarian came to us. By then Opi was already very unwell. She had even refused her breakfast. Then, in that moment, all my doubts vanished.
Not because I loved her less.
But precisely because I loved her so much.
I knew I had made the right decision.
I knew that I should not ask for one more day for my own sake, but had to let go for hers.
She fell asleep quietly…
She was not afraid…
She no longer suffered…
And although it was then that my heart truly broke, hers could finally rest.
Sometimes I remember that three days earlier she was still happily rolling around on her little bed. She felt safe. She was loved. She was home. And perhaps that is what matters most.
Not the last day.
Not the last hour.
But the time that came before it. All those years of love, trust, shared experiences and belonging.
I could not defeat the disease.
But I could make sure I did not let the disease win in the final moments either.
Love sometimes means holding on. At other times it means letting go.
And although this was the hardest decision of my life, today I feel that it was the last gift I could give Opi.
Freedom from pain. Peace instead of struggle.
And a quiet, dignified farewell for such a small, kind-hearted creature, whom I will love forever.
And if I could write them a letter, this is what I would write:
My darling little dog, Opália, my Sugar-icing!
I do not know how to begin this letter, because even now I do not want to believe that you are no longer here with me. When I think back to that day in Vietnam when I first saw you, I could not have known that it would be the most important meeting of my life. You were no longer a puppy. You were in poor condition, you were tired, you were broken. But somehow we found each other.
Neither of us knew then that 5 years and 8 months of love, trust and belonging awaited us. You were not just a dog.
You were my home.
My family.
My companion.
My everything.
The being I loved with every single cell of mine.
And whom I love just as much now.
Thank you for trusting me.
Thank you for letting me take care of you.
Thank you for being by my side every day.
Thank you for the mornings together, the evening cuddles, the walks, the laughter, and even those days when it was very hard. Because with you even the hard days were precious.
Our last 1.5 years were special. Painful, but special.
The disease slowly changed everything, but there was one thing it could not take from us.
Our bond.
I knew you so well that we understood each other even without words.
When you got thirsty, a tiny nudge with your nose was enough.
You did not have to say anything.
I knew.
Just as I also knew when you were tired, when you were calm, when you just wanted to lie beside me.
We breathed together.
We lived together.
I wanted to spend every minute of mine with you.
Not because it was a duty.
But because you were the most important.
Nothing mattered more than you.
Not work. Not anyone, nor anything else.
Only being by your side.
Being there when you needed me.
Just as you were always there for me.
The hardest day was when I had to let you go.
For more than a year I dreaded that moment.
And when it came, my heart broke into pieces.
Yet I made that decision.
Not for my own sake.
For you.
Because I loved you so much that I did not want you to suffer any longer.
I hope it was not too late.
I hope it did not hurt.
I hope you knew that I was by your side the whole time.
I hope you felt my hand. My voice. My love.
I hope you knew that I did everything for you until the very last moment.
I read that sentence many times: better a day too early than a day too late.
Even then I only thought of you.
Of what is good for you.
Of what is merciful for you.
Because the last gift I could give you was to free you from the disease that had taken so much from you.
But let me be selfish for a moment now.
Because although I know you are no longer in pain, I am still here with your absence.
And that absence is immense.
It permeates everything.
Every morning. Every evening. Every silence.
Every place where you should be.
If I could have just one more day with you, I would give everything I have for it without a second thought.
Just to see your wonderful eyes once more.
To stroke your long hair once more.
To hear your breathing once more.
To tell you once more how much I love you.
But if we cannot have one more day together, then I want you to know:
You were one of the greatest gifts of my life.
The most beautiful coincidence.
The deepest love I have ever known.
And as long as I live, you will not disappear completely.
You will be there in every memory of mine.
In every story of mine. In every tear of mine. In every smile of mine.
And in every beat of my heart.
Thank you for choosing me.
Thank you for finding your way home to me back then.
I love you.
Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow.
And forever.
I am grateful for you, I am grateful to you! For everything!
