A Grief Observed

I dug a grave today. My first. It was an unexpectedly cathartic experience casting shovel upon shovel of red clay beside the shallow grave. The weather obliged my mood– overcast, foggy, and damp with the occasional raindrop breaking my rhythm dig, scoop, throw, dig, scoop, throw. Earlier this evening I laid two dear friends to rest, my wife and children standing graveside in the rain as I recast each shovel of red clay over two of our beloved cats’ lifeless bodies. Lucy and Tigi filled our lives with countless hours of comfort, joy, and amusement. They were, as most pets, members of our family. Lucy’s brother, Mr. Bear, wandered off earlier this year never to return. What happened to him, we don’t know. I suspect he sensed his time was drawing near. Now, only Kaethe and Itsy remain. 

Digging Lucy and Tigi’s grave evoked a long lost memory of watching my Dad digging a much deeper grave. I couldn’t have been more than five or six at the time. I remember my Dad standing waist deep in the grave, nothing more. For many years my Granpa Kane and Dad dug the graves at my home congregation in rural Illinois. It struck me how many graves of friends, neighbors, and relatives–cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews–they must have dug over the years. Did they find the experience unexpectedly cathartic as well? I can only guess. 

As a Lutheran pastor I have conducted many funerals. Tonight was not only my first funeral for a pet, but for two family members. My wife and I said our tearful goodbye’s. Our  four year old wanted to help Dad fill the hole he wasn’t allowed to help dig. Death is out of his awareness. Our five year old exhibits the curiosity typical of her age. She asks so many questions we sometimes struggle to answer. Her excitement over watching me dig a hole in the backyard contrasted sharply our dread over the day’s grim task at hand. In the mind of a five year old going to heaven is no different than going to Michigan (though some might dispute my choice of analogy). She wondered why they needed a box to go to heaven and whether the box was going to stay in the hole. You can learn a great deal of theology listening to a child. At their tender ages our children are not grieving as we are but, perhaps, as we should. As a theologian I cannot say with certainty that we will see our pets again when God “makes all things new.” I vaguely recall a quote by Martin Luther to that effect when talking about his beloved dog, but I may be mistaken. As a husband, father, and cat-lover, I hope so. 

Tags: Cats, Death, Grief, Pets