This past weekend was a sad one for me because my beloved cat of over 15 years finally had to be put to sleep. The unhappy deed was done and my parents laid her to rest under one of the big old Poplars in our backyard. I couldn’t be there … I didn’t have the option of holding her one last time, feeling her soft fur under my fingers; I wasn’t able to look again into those big green eyes that took in all my confidences through the years. After all she had been for me, I couldn’t be there with her, the companion of my youth, at the end.
It hit me so much harder than I thought it would. For years now, I’ve been one of those “tough” types who makes light of things like this, and can vividly recall, on more than one occasion, not taking seriously the very real grief people have in losing their pets. “After all,” I can remember thinking, “they’re just animals, it’s not as if they’re people.”
I have to smile now, even through my tears, because it’s true that the Lord can use anything to teach us and draw us closer to Him. As a result of this experience, I will never again be so cold and compassionless toward people who have had to say goodbye to their animal companions. Through this process of grieving (which caught me completely unawares), I have realized that this is yet another way that God is thawing my heart and re-making it, scraping away the stoniness to reveal the softer side I have buried … the part that loves deeply.
Loving deeply. I think maybe that’s the true moral of this story. You see, dismissing the pain of those who lose pets is not the only thing I tend to dismiss. As I mentioned before, over the years I have become “tough,” more prone to judgment than compassion, to criticism than to empathy, to putting more importance on my own struggles than on those of others. And what the Lord is teaching me, although I’m a slow learner, is that these are glaring symptoms of hard-heartedness. Over the weekend I read a passage from one of my favorite authors, and even though he was speaking of human relationships, what he wrote cut straight through to (literally) the heart of the matter:
“Do not hesitate to love and to love deeply.
You might be afraid of the pain that deep love can cause.
When those you love deeply reject you, leave you, or die, your heart will be broken. But that should not hold you back from loving deeply. The pain that comes from deep love makes your love ever more fruitful. It is like a plow that breaks the ground
to allow the seed to take root and grow into a strong plant. Every time you experience the pain of rejection, absence, or death,
you are faced with a choice. You can become bitter and decide not to love again, or you can stand straight in your pain and let the soil on which you stand become richer and more able
to give life to new seeds.”1
For whatever reason, at some point I unconsciously began to walk this path of bitterness, building “protective” walls around my heart — my heart that only longed to love and be loved. What I didn’t know was that these walls may have helped shield me from the pain of loving deeply, but they were (and still are) preventing me from showing compassion to those around me, and even to myself. In other words, I unknowingly built myself a prison and was no longer free to see the good in people, in situations, in life … because if I could see the good, the only response I could have would be to love deeply. And the pain that can come from this response to goodness is exactly what those walls were made to shut out.
I don’t think I’m alone in this struggle, because I have observed an immense fear, both in myself and in others around me, of losing what we hold dear … things, animals, people. And this particular type of fear, which sometimes drives us to cling too tightly to what we love or protect ourselves with barriers, points to a much more serious problem: a lack of trust that God alone will fulfill us completely. And this is an ongoing battle, an act of faith that we have to keep making day after day, until we finally believe that He really is enough. In the meantime, what will help us get there is to remain in the open, not building walls, but daring to see and respond to the goodness around us, the gifts of God given to us … in time and for a time: loving deeply.
“The more you have loved and have allowed yourself
to suffer because of your love, the more you will be able to
let your heart grow wider and deeper. …Yes, as you love deeply
the ground of your heart will be broken more and more,
but you will rejoice in the abundance of the fruit it will bear.”2
And so at the beginning of this new week, even though my grief is still present, I am filled with gratitude. In spite of the pain of losing my kitty, this faithful friend of my childhood, I am grateful for the 15+ years of her companionship, for left-shoulder-only cuddling, for the way her eyes lit up when she wanted something, for all the nights she kept me company as I drifted off to sleep, for how she would look at me when I was upset, as if she understood.
Perhaps more importantly, I am resolved to help God break down my walls so that I can rediscover how to love deeply, to see everything and everyone as gifts, and in doing so, increase my trust and confidence that He truly is enough for me — that in Him all is fulfilled.
[2] Ibid.
Beautiful reflection Mary! Reminds me of a quote from C.S. Lewis that I copied down years ago, because the truth of it struck home:
“There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal … lock it up safe in the casket … of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”
Fighting against that hardness of heart is hard but necessary work. So sorry about Pippi, but thank you for sharing your beautiful heart!
Thank you for sharing this. It really hits home as today marks five weeks since my sweet dachshund Wimpy had to be put to sleep. For 11 1/2 years he was my best buddy. I loved him unconditionally and he loved me the same. I have a wonderful family that I adore, but Wimpy was a sweet bond like no other. When he passed on in front of me it was peaceful, but suddenly the world felt horribly empty. The days following I found all the love I shared with him now had no place to go, and my soul was desperate to love like I loved him while he was here. In this loss and grief I have found myself reconnecting with people and bestowing that love on them as well as getting closer with family and of course seeking a closer relationship with God. In doing this I get relief from the love that is backing up within me, as love should never be held inside. I truly believe God put Wimpy in my life for many reasons and lessons including to love with abandon, and he allowed Wimpy to pass from this world to teach me to do so even more. I miss Wimpy like crazy, but that love he taught me about is now growing and being spread to as many people and animals that I can give it to. God bless you in your time of grief, and again, thank you for sharing your story.
Dearest Mary,
I am so sorry for your loss and would like to send you a cyber hug. I have never perceived you as a person closed off to love. I find your musing most humble as you are willing to share this new found vulnerability with the world. Experiencing the death of someone or something so deeply loved is such a personal experience and now a new one for you. Please don’t be too hard on yourself! You may feel you were hard-hearted but you ARE love in His image and Pippi knew it too!
That’s what I think of when I think of the fur babies I have lost, that they loved me in spite of my short comings! Like God. And so it is when I think of the people I so sorely miss… the grief never leaves, it morphs in to something that becomes the yard stick for grief from that point on. I’m glad you weren’t home to take the kitty to the vet. You didn’t miss anything by not being there and neither did she… because your relationship was all about the last 15 years, not the last 15 minutes. There will be other times to grieve loss in your life, sadly, but each time will also be an opportunity for growth that we neither design nor have control over. Perhaps you will consider your insight one last unexpected gift for you from her, and smile through the tears. Again, I am so sorry for your loss.