We may be barking up the wrong tree, but don't we need a paid pet grieving leave?
I've been trying to find something to compare the horror that I feel; some other life experiences people go through that tear their souls out, that rip their heart literally out of their chest so they simply don't want to live.
Right now, I have six applications on my desk from animal rescue organizations in desperate need of help. Each one of them is unique -- yet, the urgency is the same. Their facilities are on the verge of collapse or closure. And, without the buildings -- what happens to the animals they rescue and save?
The more time I spend hearing families' personal stories, the more I see that each pet serves a unique purpose at a point in our lives, a task that defines their all-too-brief time on Earth. Oftentimes we don't even recognize that task until the moment has already passed.
Saying goodbye to Killian was one of the most painful days of my life -- a tie with losing my dad. We were lucky to give Killian a dignified, peaceful way to Heaven. Even though I still feel him with me when I need him most, the pain is so gut-wrenching and the grief is so real.
At the highest metaphysical level, my teacher was right: It takes no effort to be free. But interestingly enough, this spiritual freedom is of little help to me now as I face one of the most challenging decisions of my life. As life is so full of paradox, so is enlightenment.
Holidays and birthdays ramp up our happiness expectations to often unattainably high levels: to happiness with an uppercase "H" befitting the greeting card stanzas. When the tinsel and streamers come down, it's only understandable that our happiness meters need resetting. Our return to routine is a chance to recommit to everyday happiness and grab it in its lowercase forms.
From Live Better America
Some people who write about their pets really write about their pets -- and they do it in a way that speaks to the hearts of other humans who have also had significant interspecies relationships.