Can We Talk About…Anticipatory Grief?

This time, it’s something many of us experience but don’t always talk about: anticipatory grief. It’s that sudden wave of sadness or anxiety when you think about losing your pet, even when they’re completely fine. If you’ve ever felt it, you’re not alone.

Sometimes I lie in bed and imagine how I’ll feel when my dog dies. No, I don’t do this by choice, and yes, I was always a worried child. Feeling sad for inanimate objects, stuffed toys, or anything that was left sitting on its own was part of my daily life. Even in adulthood, I often feel weighed down by too many feelings at once and wonder how people float through life feeling little empathy. Don’t worry, I promise I’m going back to therapy.

Lately, my brain likes to show me all the possible scenarios in which I could lose him right before I drift off to sleep. It’s cruel, and although I hate it, I think I now understand that my brain is trying to be somewhat clever and prepare my fragile emotions for his eventual death, something I have convinced myself that I cannot cope with. Even writing this feels hard. The words ‘my dog’ and ‘dying’ do not belong in a sentence together.

But to ignore this would make me naive. And I knew before embarking upon this journey that the cycle ends in death. Nothing in this life is permanent, and I know that one day I will no longer be here, and all that may remain are my written musings, which eventually will also disappear. The strange thing is, this doesn’t make me spiral into existentialism. I’m okay with it, I get it, and I respect it. But feeling constantly worried about my dog dying? This is new, and it’s not fun.

More than anything, I’m writing this because if you’re also feeling similar things, you most certainly are not alone. Talking about death, to this day, is a taboo subject, with some people more comfortable talking about it than others. But the only way to make these ‘unpleasant’ topics less so is to open up conversations and be honest with one another. Why suffer in silence if there’s a supportive community of similar-minded people out there who can relate to your thoughts and experiences?

Whilst doing some research, I quickly realised that this sensation has a name: anticipatory grief, and it’s felt by so many people around the world. A quick Google gives me a definition:

“Anticipatory grief is the intense emotional distress, sadness, and anxiety experienced before an impending loss. It involves mourning anticipated changes, such as loss of companionship or altered roles, and is a natural reaction that allows for emotional preparation and, sometimes, resolution of issues before death.”

What’s frustrating about this is that, to my knowledge, my dog is doing just fine. He is 8 years old and ever so slowly encroaching on the senior years, but I am simultaneously aware that he has so much life yet to live, and we have so many experiences to still share together. You might recognise this feeling, knowing everything is okay, yet still bracing yourself for the moment it isn’t. I suppose that’s why it’s called anticipatory grief, because our brains are constantly anticipating what could happen to result in death. To be honest, part of me thinks it's boring and tiring, and a small part of me thinks it’s a testament to how much we allow ourselves to love.

What I can’t get my head around is that it’s not like I’ve never experienced loss before. I’ve lost three family dogs in my life, and each of them came with awful sadness and long periods of mourning. But, in time, I eventually moved on and came to celebrate their lives and appreciate the time we spent together, knowing that my family and I did the best we could. But I suppose that’s where the difference lies. Those were family dogs. Decisions around their health and well-being were made together, as a unit. This? This is entirely on me.

When I take a step back, I think the reason this anticipatory grief hits so hard is because I feel like I’m going through it alone. And when the time comes, I’ll be grieving alone. But realistically, I know that isn’t entirely true, and you might feel this too. Freddie is my dog, not my family dog. It’s just him and me against the world. He’s been there through graduations, heartbreaks, new jobs, and new houses; any change I’ve experienced over the last 6 years has been with him right by my side, and I’m struggling to imagine a time in my life where he’s not there. When I can’t hear him woofing in his sleep, or demanding cheese from my plate, or rolling over for a tummy tickle.

Here’s where the sensible part of me reminds me that there will be more loves in my life. More pets. More experiences. More love. This isn’t a finite thing I can only experience once. But the sentimental side of me believes it is. And, again, realistically, I know I have a support network in place who would most likely feel offended that I believe I’ll face this alone, but I genuinely believe Freddie and I have a connection like no other. He really is my soulpet.

It’s cliché, but I do think that maybe that’s what this all comes down to: time. It’s allowing myself to recognise that this anticipatory grief exists for a reason; my brain is trying to protect itself. And when the time comes, it’s not putting pressure on myself to grieve according to what other people think is an acceptable time to grieve. It also serves as a reminder that it’s okay to want to move past this and focus, right now, on the present. On getting out in the sunshine for our daily neighbourhood walk, on investing in his health, his comfort, and spending time together doing absolutely nothing but soaking up one another’s company.

And though I don’t know what the future holds, I made a promise on the day I met Freddie that I would look after him until the day he dies. And in the midst of all this uncertainty, I do confidently know one thing: I love him. I love him. I love him.