The Power of Good Grief to Heal Hearts
How short, but expected and repeated, loss can make you more resilient.
My nose twitched as it registered the musty marsh at the west end of the lake. A loon waivered. A bullfrog plucked a deep note. “You know, mom,” said Anna, our strides nearly matching as we walked Shiloh and Clyde on a breezy summer morning, “Caring for all those foster pets helped me learn how to grieve.”
We’d been talking about Ashley, our latest foster kitten to find a home. I had received a photo the night before of the beautiful golden-eyed Russian Blue, settling into her new life like a queen. Photos from adopters always calmed my worry that appeared every time a foster animal went to a forever home. Did we ask the adopters the right questions? Will the animal be safe? Will they be cared for? Will they be loved as they deserved?
I want them all to live in the manner I would provide. But I’m no Noah. I couldn’t possibly care for all the world’s animals! (Plus I’d get horribly seasick on an ark!) At some point, I have to let go of anxiety to let intuition guide my trust. I have to believe that others can care just like me.
Trust is one skill all foster parents must develop or bring to the caring process. Grieving is another. There’s no other way to say this, but to “win” at fostering requires loss. The foster parent must let go of the relationship they’ve developed so the animal can move to a forever home. This letting go creates space in the foster home to help another one in need.
The grieving cycle for fostering begins with anticipatory grief. For me, that anticipatory grief makes itself known when I write an animal’s profile to post to the web. It means healing from a surgery or procedure is complete. House training, fleas, worms, and most other issues have been resolved. The animal has been in our home long enough for us to see a big picture of their personality, wants, and needs. The profile is how we connect a foster pet with a best-fit adopter. It’s the beginning of our disconnection.
Profile time is when my kids would often enter the “bargaining” stage of grief. “Please mom, let us keep Betty. I’ll get up early to walk her and the other dogs.” “Please mom, let us keep Crosby. You know you love him as much as us. Imagine how sad you’ll be when he is gone.”
More anticipatory grief follows when the first interested candidate calls to inquire about the animal in our care. Letting go becomes real.
Grief from loss hits the moment I hand over a dog’s leash or open a carrier to let a cat enter another person’s home. One last pat on the head. One last scratch under a chin. It’s the final separation of me from them. I swallow deeply. Blink back tears.
I also breathe a sigh of relief. For into that dark moment seeps the light from the win. I’ll marvel, We did it! Our fostering team helped move an animal from dire straits to second chance. (I’m often talking to myself as my family typically scatters during the letting go!) I pat myself on the back. I begin planning what I’ll do with my extra time.
But grief is like a rogue wave, swamping one with emotions when least expected. That bliss from the win could quickly be replaced with sadness from an unusually quiet home. No yippy yapping from Snickers or Odie. No tiny toenails clicking on the wood floor from Lizzie or Izzy. No Luke to catch a ball.
I never experienced anger from letting go, but my teens sure did. I was the recipient of many sideways glares, stomping of feet, and slamming of doors. There were occasional outbursts of “I hate you” that would cause my breath to catch.
But into days that required less of my kids’ time came the reconnection with friends or an activity that had been paused. They’d spend more time with our resident pets who’d lavish them with affection.
Unencumbered by the needs of a foster pet, we’d resume family activities like weekend camping. We’d go for hikes in the hills along the river or lounge on a beach.
We’d reminisce about our foster pets while paging through the photo album I’d hastily put together with an old 3-ring binder Mia had decorated with stickers. I’d read them texts from adopters thanking us for the love that fills their home.
The grief from our loss would ease, and the kids would soon ask, “When can we foster again?”
Every time I’d hear that question, I’d glow. By allowing ourselves to experience “good grief” from fostering, we were saving lives and building resilience to loss. Fostering had become a win-win once we learned how to lose.
“You can’t change an animal’s past, but you can change the future.”
If you’d like to try your hand at fostering, let me know!
More stories to read before you go.
It takes a strong and wonderful person to foster. You are an incredible person.
A beautiful article which made me cry.
Love this article, Cindy! I’ve been making a point to send updates to my senior dog’s foster mom who took amazing care of her before the adoption last month.