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McPhersonSentinel - McPherson, KS
The Rev. Tim Schenck, rector of St. John the Evangelist in Hingham, Mass., looks for God amid domestic chaos
Good Grief: Bidding Farewell to a Beloved Pet
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About this blog
Tim Schenck is an Episcopal priest, husband to Bryna, father to Benedict and Zachary, and \x34master\x34 to Delilah (about 50 in dog years). Since 2009 I've been the rector of the Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist in Hingham, Mass. (on the ...
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Father Tim
Tim Schenck is an Episcopal priest, husband to Bryna, father to Benedict and Zachary, and \x34master\x34 to Delilah (about 50 in dog years). Since 2009 I've been the rector of the Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist in Hingham, Mass. (on the South Shore of Boston). I've also served parishes in Maryland and New York. When I'm not tending to my parish, hanging out with my family, or writing, I can usually be found drinking good coffee -- not that drinking coffee and these other activities are mutually exclusive. I hope you'll visit my website at www.frtim.com to find out more about me, read some excerpts from my book \x34What Size are God's Shoes: Kids, Chaos & the Spiritual Life\x34 (Morehouse, 2008), and check out some recent sermons.
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By Father Tim
Jan. 7, 2013 11:25 a.m.



CasperIn my latest “In Good Faith” column, I discuss the loss of our beloved ferret Casper in the days after Christmas. And also the importance of modeling for our children healthy ways to grieve.

Good Grief: Bidding Farewell to a Beloved Pet

By the Rev. Tim Schenck

When a pet dies, it leaves a hole in your heart. For anyone who’s bid farewell to a beloved animal this isn’t exactly a news flash. To love and to lose is to grieve.

We experienced this firsthand in the days after Christmas as Casper, our adorable little ferret  was diagnosed with a fatal liver disease. Yes, I just used “ferret” and “adorable” in the same sentence. Let me explain how we ended up living with not just one but two of these carnivorous mammals (Ferret Ownership 101 teaches you that they are not rodents).

When the boys met two ferrets belonging to a family friend last fall, they quickly became enamored with these cuddly yet mischievous creatures. The next thing I knew we had a giant cage set up in our family room and had adopted two ferrets from Rhode Island. This is what happens when you dare to blink around our house.

Casper and Mimi, as the boys dubbed them, were quickly folded into family life. While our dog Delilah defiantly ignored these interlopers, letting them out to run around their playpen became part of the morning and evening routines.

When we received the diagnosis from the vet, the boys were devastated. Actually we were all in bad shape as we processed the news. Didn’t we just send out a Christmas card featuring our entire extended “family?” But I also recognized an important opportunity — something that will remain part of Casper’s legacy. Modeling healthy and appropriate ways to say goodbye is an important responsibility for any parent and Bryna and I had an opportunity to do just that.

When we shield our children from grief we do them no favors. Yes, there are age-appropriate ways to introduce kids to the concept of mortality. We started the conversation years ago with goldfish — I’ve conducted more toilet-side burials than I care to remember. We’ve also taken the boys to the occasional wake or funeral of family members or friends, allowing them to ask questions and helping to guide the conversation.

Over the years, I’ve seen families grieve in healthy ways that unite and I’ve seen families grieve in unhealthy ways that divide. When things get nasty it’s often the result of either a broken relationship with the deceased or an inability to face death. For people of faith, death is not the end nor is it the final goodbye. Rather it is an entrance into a larger life and thus death is merely a temporary farewell. This doesn’t make grief un-Christian — hardly — but in time it does take the sting of lasting anger and bitterness out of our hearts.

The healthy approach is to acknowledge the pain and the myriad emotions of grief. We let the boys grieve in their own ways and gave them space to do so even while walking with them through our own sadness. We prayed; we talked; we acknowledged the pain and loss we were all feeling. This isn’t a magic formula; it’s not always neat and tidy. But just as God weeps when we weep and rejoices when we rejoice, we can do the same with our children.

Casper’s last day on this earth was all any of us could hope for. He was surrounded by love and compassion and prayers and friends. Jen, whose two ferrets the boys first encountered, stopped by with Mahi and Fenway. While Casper rested comfortably the other three ferrets played, occasionally checking in on Casper. Other friends came through and some of the neighborhood children who knew Casper stopped by to pay their respects. Even Delilah was attentive to Casper, standing guard near his cage in the hours before I took Casper to the vet to be put down.

I’m not comparing a human death to the death of a ferret but the emotions of grief are universal. Pets also communicate in ways that transcend language, allowing us to relate to them on a purely emotional level. When dogs, cats, ferrets, whatever live in our homes we develop special relationships and attachments to them that defy rational logic. But then love itself is hardly rational or logical.

Ben's Casper Collage

Ben’s Casper Collage



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