Explaining death (Part 2): Her pet
While watching a documentary on snow leopards, our emotional investment to the featured cat was laid waste when it was injured during a hunt. I can sense my daughter’s sadness as the camera pulled away from the body of this cat who laid motionless as it succumbed to it injuries. She leaves behind two young cubs. “What will happen to the babies?” she inquired. If they don’t find food, they will probably die as well. After a series of questions, she gets that nature has its cycles of life. And death is on this circle. But she was inspired to hear that rangers had spotted the cubs, now grown; they survived the mother!
Months later, a death hits closer to her. While at her mother’s, I had come home to find my daughter’s hamster, motionless in its cage. I wasn’t surprised as the animal had been showing signs of slowdown and had already lived two and half years under my daughter’s part-time care. She wasn’t going to be back at my house for a few more days and I couldn’t leave the animal in its cage for that long. So I called my daughter and broke the sad news to her.
“I’m sorry, but your hamster died this morning.” Silence. “It literally happened today as I remember checking in on him last night.” Silence. “You took really good care of him for a long time and he’s had a very good and playful life, but he was just too old. I’m sorry.” More silence. Then through a tear, I can hear her voice saying, “What are you going to do with him?” I thought about pitching it in the organic bin but I think it’s against the law. Recognizing that my daughter probably wants some closure on this animal she’s spent a good chuck of time with over the past two plus years, I said, “I will wrap him up and put him in a bag in the freezer and we can bury him out back, together.” She was good with that and wanted to come home soon.
The important lesson for both of us isn’t the lesson of death itself but the way we approach the inevitable. If a death happens, don’t ever shield her from it; tell her right away and don’t expect a reaction. Let her pause and reflect so she can process the event and allow her natural emotions to be expressed. Show compassion. Let her be part of the process and be involved.
When she did come home, she immediately asked me to take Fuzzy out of the freezer so she can see him. I cautioned her on proper hygiene and we donned latex gloves. She helped me pick a spot in the garden and shoveled away a lot of dirt. “I think that’s deep enough.” We slowly unwrapped the small creature from its paper cocoon and laid it down with its bedding. She took one last look and then we covered the body with dirt and put flower pots over the area. Then she asked me “When will it evaporate?” Do you mean when will it decompose? “Yeah.” Probably by next year.
Unlike the pet fish she first had, she now has a better understanding on the permanence of death. But the important lesson for both of us isn’t the lesson of death itself but the way we approach the inevitable. If a death happens, don’t ever shield her from it; tell her right away and don’t expect a reaction. Let her pause and reflect so she can process the event and allow her natural emotions to be expressed. Show compassion and let her know that there wasn’t anything she could have done differently and in fact, because of her, lives were enriched. Give her a chance to plan out how to deal with the aftermath. If a burial is appropriate, let her be part of the process and be involved. If the vet has to take over and deal with the body, let her speak to the vet and be a part of that activity, too. She was there on the first day she received her pet, let her be there on the last day of her pet and allow for closure.
Till this day, my daughter still misses Fuzzy. She took really good care of him. Her memories are happy and never once did she say she wishes he didn’t have to die, or she wishes she could have done something differently. This tells me that she has accepted his death and has moved on in a very health way.