Part II: Holding Vigil and Walking Hand-in-Hand with Grief
"I will endure a lifetime of missing you for the privilege of having known you." (unknown)
Today’s post was written while listening to Elevator Love Letter by the band Stars, because this will be the second part of my experience saying goodbye to my sweet angel baby animal companion Ellum, after 16 years together. I used to sing this song to him regularly way back when and I would replace “Elevator” with “Ellumvator” and that both brings me tears and smiles.
Hi. :)
It’s been a little while. Life has been busy and, in many ways, I’ve avoided writing this second part to losing my sweet Ellum. You can read the first part at Part I: Carrying Anticipatory Grief While Learning about Death to catch up if needed. In summary, it chronicles the beginnings of realizing, as I started my Death Doula education journey, my beloved cat of 16 years Ellum was facing his final days as my animal companion.
*Important Note: This post will include conversations about animal companion death, including images of the euthanasia and memorial processes.
On Saturday, March 29th at approximately 11:45 a.m. EST (after giving so many precious hugs and kisses), Ellum peacefully passed via euthanasia, surrounded by his closest companions (family and friends) on a cozy, comfy knitted blanket provided by a very close family friend.
At the time the euthanasia medication was being administered after he was sedated, I got down to his eye level, locking eyes with him until the very end. To this day, I can still see his sweet little spirit leave his earthy body via his eyes, and I am so grateful to have been with him right until the very end, never leaving his side or his view.
The veterinarian confirmed his passing and I felt both the heaviness of grief and the lightness of relief he was no longer suffering and uncomfortable. Both/and. We spent some time sitting with him, tears flowing, finally leaving the building - we went as a group to raise a glass to a sweet life well lived.
Because my other cat, Silly, has to receive special shots on a monthly basis, she was with us during this process. It was comforting to have her there, and I wonder if she knew what was happening.
Prior to the euthanasia process, the vet discussed my options with me for Ellum’s post-death process. The main options were:
Home burial - this isn’t available in every state/city, but a nice option for those who would like to take it.
Community cremation - an affordable option for cremation that happens with other animals who have passed.
Private cremation - a bit more expensive, but provides an opportunity for your animal to be cremated in private.
I chose a private cremation, as I wanted to ensure the ashes I received back were in fact my sweet little boy. After scouring the cremation provider’s website, I discovered an additional option to have a “private viewing” prior to cremation, which is essentially like a “wake” for humans. This required an additional cost, but I was willing to pay to experience this process.
About a week after Ellum’s passing, the private viewing and cremation was scheduled. I decided to bring Andrea, my good friend who joined us for Ellum’s euthanasia. We arrived at the cremation location and entered a welcoming space where we were provided insight into the process, which I’ve outlined below:
A brief meeting to review the costs associated with the private viewing and urn I chose,
A finalization of paperwork,
An overview of the private viewing process, which included:
A 40 minute private viewing with Ellum (who she explained would look like he was sleeping), where we could pet him or hold him,
A quiet room to grieve, cry, and experience the private viewing,
A TV to watch the transition from the private viewing room to the cremation space.
During the paperwork process, they ensured I signed a waiver recognizing I could not hold the organization liable for any emotional distress from the TV viewing experience. I thought it was important that they ensured people understood that could be highly emotionally impactful to a person. Although I could understand how that may be impactful to some, I am personally so glad to have experienced the process end-to-end. It made me feel as though I was truly with him, transitioning his spirit/body to the ether.
When we entered the private viewing room, Ellum was peacefully laying on a small mattress with a blanket over him. He looked so peaceful and sweet, like his was resting deeply. His eyes and mouth were glued closed. His fur was still just as soft, even despite his body being maintained in refrigeration.
We spent time in the room with him, soft music playing gently, talking about this experience and how much we missed him. I felt privileged to experience this, as I had never heard of it before and had I not explored their website, I never would have known (as my vet didn’t know this was possible, either)!
When it was time for him to move into the cremation space, a worker came up and gently wrapped him in a blanket to bring him down. Before turning on the TV to watch him being placed in his final cremation space, seeing him for the very last time in the physical form, the technician gently clipped some fur for me and made a clay impression of his paw. Both are items I hold so dear today.
After the finalization of this private viewing experience, with many tears, we left the building and - once again - raised a glass to this sweet boy who taught both of us so much in his 16-year lifetime.
I custom ordered a special urn for Ellum. Unfortunately, it wasn’t ready at the time he was cremated, so after lunch when we returned to pick up his ashes, he came home in a temporary urn. About a week later, his custom urn arrived. Patrick and I transferred his ashes after spreading some around the backyard (his favorite place to enjoy the sun), and his body can now peacefully remain in his finally resting place. His urn sits in a small window in the stairwell, looking out to the mountain (and his favorite view for bird watching); it’s positioned in a location where we can see it from various areas of the house and, of course, whenever we go up and down the stairs.
It’s been quite a month or so and quite a process. My sweet boy seemed to have the timing down in such a way that his last moments and his death taught me so much just as I needed it. He gave me the most relevant practicum experience during my Death Doula schooling - it’s fitting, really. He accompanied me through so many degrees in my lifetime that I assume when he realized he wouldn’t see me through this one, he thought he might as well go out ensuring I learned something from him through it.
The grief still comes in waves, as grief does. It hits when it’s least expected, and at other times when it’s entirely expected. Our animal companions are family. They love us unconditionally.
How lucky I am to have loved you so much, sweet Ellum, that it hurts this much to grieve you.
Memento Mori,
Kelsey