I can’t stop crying over my dead dog

DEAR BEL, I’M A divorced, childless lady (47) still grieving for my little naughty boy Jack.

I lost him last autumn, so have just passed the first anniversary without him. He was 16 when ( so painfully) I had to have him put to sleep.

Bel, do you think I’m stupid? Jack lived with me for nearly four years. I took him on when my sister emigrated to Australia and it was the best thing I ever did.

You see, I have serious mental-health problems and Jack was my first dog.

I’d always loved him, as I took him for walks every Sunday when visiting my sister. But then he became my dog — my boy.

The decision my boyfriend and I had to make after listening to what the vet said was the hardest thing I ever done in my life.

The last time I cried like that was when my Nanna died 16 years ago. In tears as the vet prepared, I cuddled him, told him ‘I love you’ and asked him to forgive me.

But the vet said it was the right thing. I had Jack cremated and he is in a little box with a Jack Russell dog on it, which I kiss every night.

Since then, I have often wept for Jack and for Nanna — always on my mind every day. But since then we’ve rescued 14-year-old Ziggy from a lovely charity, Save Our Strays.

I love her, but why do I go on crying for Jack?

MAUREEN

MAureeN, I make no apology for choosing your letter to be published the day after the one-year anniversary of my own little dog’s death. Naturally, your email struck right to my heart, especially as you sent lovely pictures, too, including one of the beautiful box containing Jack’s ashes.

Most people will understand why your question tore at my heart. Last November 4, when Bonnie died, I was utterly heartbroken, and (to be honest) remain sad and miss her — even though we have two rescue dogs who make us smile every single day.

Who can explain these things? Well, I have tried to do so in my new memoir, Goodbye Pet & See You In Heaven, because I wanted to try to reassure people about mourning a pet, and explore some of the history of this special relationship.

The trouble is, because I am frequently asked to talk about the book at literary festivals and in the media, the sadness is renewed each time. There’s no help for it.

What I want to do is address the issue of grieving for your grandmother and the two deaths becoming conflated.

This is not uncommon, you know. The death of a pet can cause you to re-live other losses in your past life, remembering them with a new intensity. It’s as if all the love in your soul is set quivering. As I comment in my book: ‘Psychotherapists believe it is not the loss itself but what it uncovers within you that brings despair.’

Since you are frank about having suffered mental-health problems, it is no surprise to me that taking care of Jack turned out to be such a wonderful therapy and that, therefore, his death reminded you of how bereft you felt at the loss of your beloved Nanna.

Perhaps she was the only one in your life who gave you as much unconditional love as the mischievous Jack russell terrier.

Maureen, you know you had no choice but to take the vet’s advice and give Jack the best end possible —– so swift, so merciful, as he listened to your loving words.

And now I suggest you cease puzzling over how you can still mourn Jack at the same time as rescuing and loving Ziggy. (It’s marvellous that you have taken on an elderly dog, but I beg you to steel yourself for what is coming.)

Because this is the glory of it — the heart can expand and there is no end to our capacity for the deepest affection. Jack did something infinitely precious, which was to awaken your heart to the transforming love of a companion animal. So celebrate that — as I do.