Uncomfortable Truths
Or: Sometimes humans are kind of the worst.
“Will your grief be as much as when Grandfather died?” Teen asked me. He looked worried.
He’d seen me crawl into a grief cave and ugly cry for a month after my dad died.
I wanted to reassure Teen. But I also wanted to be honest.
“Hon, I will always ultimately be okay. But yes. I will probably be as sad.”
Teen nodded, taking this in.
I sighed. “Honestly, I might be more sad. Not that I’m comparing loves. Not at all. You know how much I loved Grandfather. But I think… it will be a more aching heartbreak. Because she is so present in my life.”
“That makes sense.”
“And … unconditional love is pretty rare. No questions, no complications. Always just happy to be with us.”
“Yeah.”
We were talking about our dog Pepper.
Talk about pet grief and suddenly the world splits in two.
You either nod knowingly, like, YES. I get it. I’ve had THAT dog, that special dog, too.
Or you wince. And likely judge a little. You think something like What in the heck. How could you possibly compare losing your father to losing your … pet?
Well guess what. Pepper died last week. I am a wreck.
Every grief is different. Grief is a force with its own energy. My friend Dr. C says, “Grief will have its way with you.” She’s right.
I woke up this morning, sat up, and starting crying. Because Pepper wasn’t there to stick her nose in my face.
When I was done crying about Pep, I cried about how lonely this grief feels.
Lonely not just as in missing Pepper but lonely as in feeling so isolated.
The outpouring of love and empathy when my dad died was so heartening - cards, flowers, food, texts, donations to charity, hugs. I was and still am grateful for that support. But the difference. I can’t even tell you. With the notable exceptions of a handful of of texts, a sweet neighbor who possibly loves animals more than humans, and my leftover-cake-bringing bestie. Otherwise? Nothing. Crickets. I don’t even feel like I can talk about it.
If I’m out and someone sees I’m upset, I tell them my best friend died. That is the truth. Let them assume she was human.
Again, I bet you’re either nodding in recognition or you’re disgusted that I would even think this way.
Well I’m in a mood. And I write to be honest and to say what I need to say.
I need to say it because it feels like it needs to be said. That’s a tautology, but whatever. It’s also true. There are a LOT of us who experience disenfranchised grief.
Disenfranchised grief is another tautology. It’s disenfranchised because it is not recognized by society. It makes you feel alone. You feel disenfranchised. So you keep your grief to yourself. You’re too sad and feeling too judged to talk about it openly … it stays in the dark … which makes it easier to continue to be ignored, judged… disenfranchised.
There are some reasonable reasons this loss seems like not as big a deal to other people. Not as many people knew Pepper as knew my dad. She didn’t affect as many lives. She didn’t live as long.
But my guess is there are other reasons. Two big ones that I’ve been thinking about.
The first big reason, I think, is that it feels like a choice to have a pet, and it doesn’t feel like a choice to have parents. All of us have people who raised us. Not all of us choose to have a pet.
So people distance themselves from your grief experience. They can blame you for your own grief.
This happens in other examples of disenfranchised grief: abortion, a loved one being incarcerated, murder (if the victim was involved “with the wrong people”), overdose, the death of a foster child, death of a friend, even miscarriage.
“Well you chose to [have an abortion / let your son hang out with a criminal element / foster parent / be friends / etc] so don’t come crying to me now that you’re sad.”
In a strange way, accepted vs. disenfranchised grief is similar to how folks rally (or don’t) around people affected by natural disasters.
An earthquake hits and for a moment there is no judgment. “This was an act of God, it was forced upon everyone. We’re all in the same boat.” Accepted grief.
Quickly, though, the distancing, the blame starts. “They chose to live near a fault line.” “They built a house near the beach / in tornado alley / next to a fire-prone forest.” “They had fair warning and should have evacuated sooner.” Disenfranchised grief.
And my God, what a tremendous failure of empathy.
—
Reason numero dos. With pet grief, I suspect it’s because animals don’t count as much.
Humans are pathologically human-centric. Most humans assume that we are at the top of the consciousness / intelligence / personalities pyramid.
A lot of humans don’t even think animals have souls, spirits, consciousness, and/or personalities.
What are the reasons for thinking this way? Is it simply human chauvinism, hubris? Or is it more?
I wonder.
What it would mean to believe that animals have what we Quakers call “the Light” in them? And to act like that mattered?
(Not to even mention flora and fungi, which also seem conscious and interconnected.)
A particularly pressing question: if animals have spirits, or personalities, or consciousness, how can we be okay with the cruelty inherent in large scale, industrialized meat production?
How can we tolerate broiler hens being packed so tightly that they are unable to move, bred to grow so large so quickly that they can’t support their own body weight, forced to live in conditions where they never even see daylight?
Yes, yeah. I know. It’s awful to think about.
I don’t want to sound preachy or off-putting. But this is on my heart and I need to talk about it.
To be clear: I don’t blame meat industry workers. I don’t tend to think people are intentionally cruel. The intention behind large scale meat production might have been benign, or even good, but the impact — the actuality — is harrowing. Whether or not you even think chickens “count.”
Okay but now I need to say: chickens totally, 100%, count. For real, they even have distinct personalities.
A story. In April 2020, our family adopted three baby chicks. OMG the cutest little creatures you’ve ever seen.
Teen had been wanting to keep chickens for ages, and newsflash: I don’t know if you remember, but in spring 2020 there was this thing called a global pandemic. We wanted something fun to focus on.
We made plans. First, we sent Teen as an ambassador to convince our next-door neighbors (ahem, my mom and dad) to let us build a coop in their back yard to keep the chickens safe from Pepper.
Spoiler alarm: Teen’s grandparents said yes. They are wont to spoil Teen. That’s why we sent Teen.
We built a coop. We picked our chicks. Peep peep peep! OMFG SO STINKING CUTE.
From tiny fluff balls to full adulthood, we learned very quickly and unequivocally that chickens have distinct personalities.
Before she died of a heart attack, Maggie Chicken was our friendliest girl and loved to be held. She’d roost on your shoulder. Buffy is an ambivert - she tolerates snuggles and eventually warms up to you. She’s also an escape artist. Poor sweet Kel is a nervous Nelly; she’s our most eager flyer and she shivers like whoa if you try to pick her up. But she’s the boss lady of the group.
That’s not all. They recognize us. They know our voices and what we look like. They are interested when any of us come near their coop, but they go bonkers when they see my husband. They know he’s the human most likely to let them out to explore. They have soft cooing noises they only make for him. They’re sweet and clever.
Ok. So. How do you hold this in your heart and enjoy a Chick-Fil-A sandwich at the same time? I can’t. Not just because it’s eating chicken but because the chicken came from an overcrowded, fetid, antibiotic fueled, nightmare “factory.”
Sigh.
Empathy and compassion can be exhausting. I am right here with you. Couldn’t agree more. The world is a shit show. The Earth is literally on fire. Just to survive, a lot of us have to be careful (or care-less) about what we care about.
But what is the point of **waves hands around** all this, if we don’t care? If we don’t wonder and question and love and live into our values? Shouldn’t we do what we can? Even just a little?
I think so.
Maybe empathy and compassion are skills. Maybe we can get better at them and more resilient with practice and training.
Maybe a moment of hesitation in the drive-thru at Chick-Fil-A or Cook Out … well maybe that’s a worthwhile little pause. Maybe that’s compassion peeping for our attention.
Maybe.
Here’s a photo of Pepper while we think it over.
Speaking of compassion.
Readers. Friends. If grief is having its way with you right now—
Maybe you and me can extend each other some compassion.
Maybe we can also practice extending compassion to our broken-hearted selves.
If you are in grief — disenfranchised or otherwise — please know: you’re not alone.
Even if you can’t talk about it. You don’t have to. At least, not with me. I get it.
We can just sit here quietly. Together.
Xoxo
J. J.
Recommended reading:
Washington Post - Dealing with pet loss: How to help a grieving pet parent. Pet parents often say that losing their animal companions is as hard as, if not harder than, losing a human family member, experts say. By Marlene Cimons. 31 January 2023.
WebMD - What to Know About Disenfranchised Grief. 25 October 2021.
Vox.com - Ending the age of animal cruelty. Billions of animals die each year for our plates. What if they didn’t have to? By Ezra Klein. 29 January 2019.
The Marginalian - The Secret Life of Trees: The Astonishing Science of What Trees Feel and How They Communicate. A tree can be only as strong as the forest that surrounds it. Book review and article by Maria Popova. 26 September 2016.
Pubmed, the National Library of Medicine - Hyphal and mycelial consciousness: the concept of the fungal mind. By Nicholas P Money. 23 February 2021.
I felt all of these words so deeply. Disenfranchised grief is such a good way to put it. I do understand horribly well how you’re feeling about dear Pepper. It’s just so hard. Sending you love.
Where does animal consciousness begin within the spectrum from worms to humans? Bees? possibly. Dogs? of course. Now think about empathy, or love. Where did it start, and how? Instinct or learned?