Losing a Pet, and helping pets left behind to cope

Losing a pet is one of the hardest experiences we go through, yet it’s something that isn’t talked about nearly enough. Maybe because it hurts too much. Maybe because grief over an animal isn’t always taken seriously. But when we don’t talk about it, it can feel incredibly isolating—like we’re the only ones falling apart over someone who meanteverythingto us.

Losing a beloved family member is no doubt devastating for the humans in the family, but something that often gets overlooked is the grief of the pets left behind. Surviving pets are frequently dismissed because they don’t cry the way we do or express their grief in ways we immediately recognize. They grieve differently—often quietly, subtly, and in ways we don’t fully understand—and because of that, what they’re going through is too often minimized.

Flounder and I are here to tell you: pets grieve deeply, and their grief deserves to be acknowledged, respected, and supported.

Every situation is different. Every family grieves differently. Every pet grieves differently. The experience I’m sharing isn’t a blueprint or a guarantee—it’s simply our experience, offered in the hope that it can serve as a gentle guideline for others navigating the loss of a loved one.

The Rollercoaster Between Diagnosis and Goodbye

From the moment of Fiki's diagnosis to the day we said goodbye, every step was confusing, emotional, and overwhelming. One of the biggest lessons I learned during that time was not to jump straight to the worst-case scenario every time there was a bad day.

Early on, I did this constantly. If he seemed off, I spiraled. I panicked, assumed the end was imminent, and mentally prepared to make that call the very next day.

And almost every time, the next morning Fiki was fine. Happy. Chipper. Himself again.

What I learned is this: sometimes they just have bad days. A bad day doesn’t automatically mean it’s the end. Learning to sit with uncertainty instead of rushing ahead into anticipatory grief is incredibly hard—but it can spare both you and your pet a lot of unnecessary stress.

Positivity, Purpose, and Not Giving Up

Another thing I noticed is that Fiki genuinely did better when we stayed positive around him. This wasn’t about denial or pretending everything was okay—it was about energy. Positivity is contagious, and even when my heart was breaking, being calm, encouraging, and hopeful helped him feel more secure.

I also never stopped teaching him new things. We continued working on behaviors. He learned new words. We celebrated small wins.

Looking back, I truly believe this gave him a sense of purpose. It showed him we weren’t giving up. That he was still learning, still important, still part of the future—even if we didn’t know how long that future would be.

It helped him.
And it helped me.

Mistakes, Presence, and Going Through It Together

I definitely made mistakes—things I would go back and change if I could. But the most important thing I felt we did right was being together. Going through it together. Even handling my mistakes together. Adjusting quickly. Staying deeply in tune with each other throughout the entire process.

Grief is messy. You won’t do everything perfectly. What matters most is connection, presence, and the willingness to adapt.

Talk to Your Pets—Every Day

My biggest piece of advice is this: talk to your pets.

Not just when tragedy happens. Every day.

Use words. Teach them language. Even if you’re not using buttons. The more words and concepts your pet understands, the smoother things will be when you need to explain complicated ideas—like illness, absence, and loss.

I truly believe that if Flounder didn’t understand English to the extent she does, we would have struggled much more than we already did.

Language gives them context.
Context gives them security.

Helping Surviving Pets Remember (Without Overwhelming Them)

Healing doesn’t mean forgetting. But helping surviving pets remember a deceased companion is a delicate balance—between honoring the bond and avoiding emotional overload.

If you know in advance that your pet is terminally ill, I highly recommend getting as many videos as you can from your other pets’ perspective. I wish I had more footage of Fiki from Flounder’s eye level, but I’m grateful for the “Flounder-vision” videos I do have.

When Flounder watched them, she would almost go into a trance—watching, listening, absorbing. She’s very receptive to screens, which helped. If your pet isn’t interested in videos or TV, scent can be incredibly powerful. An unwashed blanket, fur, a toy, a shirt or sweater—scent is a strong memory-recovery tool.

That said, timing matters.

I didn’t give Flounder any “Fiki exposure” until she asked for it—ten days after he passed, when she began pressing her “Fiki” button. Now that we understand her “Remember” button, it’s much easier to avoid triggering her while still giving her the exposure she wants.

It allows her to remember him when she’s in a good place—and to avoid it when she’s not. Just like us.

Healing Together

We continue to heal together. Some days are easier than others. Some days are heavy and dark. But being there for each other—supporting one another through those moments—is the most important thing we can do.

Fiki was a huge part of our lives. He will be missed for a very, very long time.

I truly hope this helps anyone going through the loss of a pet. It’s such a painful, unfair thing to experience, and no one should feel like they’re navigating it alone. If these ideas or shared experiences make it even slightly easier for you or your family, then sharing this was worth it.

You’re not imagining your pet’s grief.
You’re not doing it wrong.
And you’re not alone.