On death: Why we think and talk about losing our dog

It was Sean, initially, who pushed me to think about death.

“Why does it scare you so much?” my husband asked with his arm around my shoulders, stoic-yet-earnest expression (one I’ve never seen anyone else quite pull off) on full display.

“Because I can’t live without you.” He stayed silent, a fine strategy to encourage more words to tumble from my lips. “Okay, I don’t know how to live without you. I’d figure it out, but I don’t want to. I can’t imagine it.”

And though it sounded morbid at the time—and I know still sounds morbid to many friends and family and strangers—Sean encouraged me to imagine it. At least a little, here and there, on some sort of regular basis. To remind myself that life is temporary for all of us, for everyone I love and don’t love, and there will inevitably be leaving and being left.

I listened. I started contemplating death more often. And strangely? I think it’s been one of the healthiest things I’ve done.

Naming things can make them less frightening

For a long ti…