The Art of Letting Go

“Having a dog will bless you with the happiest days of your life and one of the worst.” -Unknown

I’ve loved many animals during my time on this earth and with that love inevitably comes time to say goodbye. I’d be lying if I said it got easier, because the truth is, it doesn’t. It will always bring with it pain so unimaginable you wonder if it was all really worth it.

I met Gunner on a typical October day in 2014. I had happily agreed to foster the six week old kitten who’d been found outside in rough shape. It was a foster that was bound to turn into an adoption the moment I laid eyes on him. From that point on, we were inseparable. Together we travelled the country and he visited more provinces than most humans do in their lifetime. Gunner was strong-willed and had a wild side that I grew to admire. But at night when it was just me and him, he let his guard down and cuddled close, his purr so loud it could wake the dead.

The thing about life is you never quite know just how long you have. I’ve learned that the hard way.

When Gunner got sick, it came on fast and sudden. Cats have a tendency to hide pain and sickness so when you do notice something out of the ordinary, it can sometimes be too late. Perhaps I didn’t act fast enough - I guess I’ll never know. (Oh yes, this is where the guilt starts to set in.)

Gunner was only seven years old when I brought him through the clinic doors for the last time. After a thorough exam and diagnostics we realized just how sick he was. Gunner was diagnosed with Immune Mediated Hemolytic Anemia (or IMHA). Essentially, his immune system was attacking and destroying his own red blood cells.

The prognosis for Gunner was poor - he was extremely anemic and his liver was failing. He is also a terrible patient in general and needs to be sedated for even the simplest of procedures. There was the option of trying blood transfusions and steroid treatments but I knew my boy. I knew he wouldn’t want to spend his last few days being poked and prodded. And so I made the hardest decision of my life.

As I signed the euthanasia paperwork with trembling hands, I felt as though I was also signing away my own life. I was still trying to cope with the death of my father and the end of my engagement. All the pain that I’d been suppressing came pouring out of me in that room as I held my boy. I cried until my head throbbed and my body shook. I remember leaning over and whispering to Gunner that I had to let him go. My decision was validated when he placed his head against my own.

He passed peacefully.

The reason I’m re-living the horror of that afternoon is because it’s something so many of us have to go through. Having worked at veterinary clinics for over eight years, I’ve seen the best and the worst. As a receptionist, part of my job was having clients sign the euthanasia and cremation consent forms. I've learned that grief is expressed in many different ways; some people would glance at me and force a smile as they signed their name and others would punch holes through clinic walls.

Having to experience this on a daily basis, you learn to distance yourself mentally. If you took on all that grief, you wouldn’t survive in the profession. Honestly, most don’t. One euthanasia in particular stood out because it broke down my wall. An older lady had brought her beautiful spaniel to the clinic as it had suddenly started pacing and trying to vomit. Anyone who’s worked in veterinary medicine understands the seriousness of these symptoms and what they might indicate. And you’d be correct. The pup was diagnosed with GDV, otherwise known as bloat. This is a very serious condition in which the stomach twists, slowly stopping blood flow to the legs and heart. If not treated early, the only option is euthanasia. I could hear this poor woman through the door of the exam room as she spoke to the vet who was preparing the dog for euthanasia. She asked the vet between gasping breaths if the reason this had happened was because she had rubbed her dogs tummy too much. That question absolutely broke me. I hid in the clinic kitchen and cried for her, and for all those that carry such guilt.

The decision to euthanize is one of the hardest you will ever make. Some people are still very against the idea or refuse to pay the cost. Many say that they’d prefer to have their pet pass peacefully in their sleep. And while I understand this wish, in my experience, very few are lucky enough to pass peacefully. The decision to euthanize is the bravest one you can make. It is the final most selfless gift you can give.

I would have fought to the ends of the earth to save Gunner. I would have spent every last cent had I thought it would have saved his life. But sometimes, the way to show how much you love them is knowing when to stop. It’s realizing when you’ve reached the ends of the earth despite wanting to. It’s letting go of everything you hope and pray and making that final decision for them.

The quote at the very beginning of this is one I stumbled across a few years ago, “Having a dog will bless you with the happiest days of your life and one of the worst.” A common phrase I'd hear as people would exit euthanasia rooms was this, "That's the last dog/cat I'm ever going to have. I can't go through saying goodbye again". And while I truly understand the heart-shattering pain they're in, I hope they also remember all the amazing years they spent smiling alongside their friend. There are so many animals out there that are just waiting for that kind of love. I often ask myself if I would go through all of this again with Gunner knowing the outcome and the pain it would cause me. The answer will always be an unwavering and resounding yes.

The biggest takeaway is this; hold them tight. Love them with everything you’ve got.

And when the time comes, know when to let them go.