Dear Animal Parent,

When I lost my beloved companion Tickles in the ER late at night after discovering a spleen tumor that was previously undetected, my world was turned upside down—just like so many of us who carry profound heartache after making the impossible decision to say goodbye. This is an utterly excruciating and life changing event. Personally, I will never be the same. Whether it's the shock of an unexpected emergency, the agony of preparing to let go at home, or the painful process of watching your beloved animal age or battle illness, the loss of an animal companion (best friend, family member, child, and soulmate) leaves us with an aching heart like no other. Please know that mine is with you in solidarity, compassion, and huge empathy. 

The days and months that followed Tickles' passing were some of the hardest I’ve ever faced. As I navigated shock, overwhelm, and sadness, I looked for help on social media and ordered from a slim number of available books about animal loss. That’s when it became evident that there’s a tragic lack of support for people experiencing the grief of it. Seeking solace in writing, I journaled daily, spoke with social workers on free crisis hotlines (yes-it was a crisis for me) and joined a grief group in order to make sense of my emotions. But it wasn’t enough, nor was it convent and consistent. I needed on-going, solid support to walk through the agonizing journey of being separated from Tickles for the first time in 15 years. How many times could I lean on my friends and family? Finding fellow Animal Parents that understood was essential––in addition to professional insights, boundaries, healing tools, and time.

As I tried to cope, the quiet park where Tickles and I walked daily, became my refuge. I’d often pet my neighbor’s dogs there, and one day an adorable rescue named Bear and his dad Jordon joined me on the grass. Extending kindness, Jordon empathized about Tickles, and let me know that his sister would be saying goodbye to her 21 year-old cat that afternoon.  

Walking away from that conversation, I wished there was a way to offer a solid resource for help. A place I could refer her to. A link to send. I’d been where she was about to find herself, and it would’ve been the right thing to do. Continuing down the river path I now call Tickles Way, it felt like my angel was nudging me to do something for others in their grief. What if I could help a sister in her time of need? And a sister of a sister? A bother, a son, a friend, and so on?