Finding Strength in Stillness: Stoic Wisdom for Navigating the Loss of a Beloved Pet
There’s a particular kind of silence that arrives when a pet companion leaves us. The absence of little paws padding across the floor. The missing weight of a small body curled against you. The quiet where once there were barks or purrs. When my little dog Chewy passed away, this silence seemed to fill every corner of my home and heart.
Grief for a pet companion can be profoundly intense, yet often socially underacknowledged. In searching for wisdom to navigate this painful terrain, I found familiar solace in ancient Stoic philosophy—teachings that are over two millennia old yet speak directly to the experience of losing a cherished animal friend.
The Nature of Grief Through a Stoic Lens
When Chewy died, my grief felt like an overwhelming tidal wave. I found myself caught between moments of numbness and crushing pain. The Stoics would have gently acknowledged this reality while offering a perspective that initially seemed impossible to embrace: that much of our suffering comes not just from the loss itself, but from our resistance to the natural order of things.
Epictetus, who knew profound suffering himself, put it this way: “Never say about anything, ‘I have lost it.’ Instead say, ‘I have given it back.’” Pondering this, I began to understand that Chewy was never mine to keep forever. Our time together was borrowed—his lifespan predictably shorter than my own. The gift wasn’t permanent ownership, but the blessing of his presence in my life.
Practical Stoic Approaches to Pet Loss
1. Memento Mori: Honor Their Mortality
The Stoic practice of memento mori—remembering mortality—sounds harsh but serves as a powerful tool for perspective. When applied to pet loss, it reminds us that the brevity of our companions’ lives is precisely what makes them so precious.
I’ve found comfort in acknowledging that Chewy lived a complete dog life—from playful puppy to dignified senior. His life was shorter than mine by nature’s design, yet complete in its own way.
2. Focus on What Remains Within Our Control
Even in grief, some choices remain ours. After losing Chewy, I could control:
How I honored his memory
Whether I allowed his death to close my heart to future pet relationships
How I supported other pet parents experiencing similar loss
What meaning I made from our years together
As Epictetus said, “Make the best use of what is in your power, and take the rest as it happens.”
3. The View From Above
When grief feels all-consuming, the Stoic practice of zooming out to see the larger picture can provide perspective. This doesn’t diminish the importance of one small dog, but rather places his life and death within the natural flow of all living things.
I’ve found moments of peace imagining Chewy’s life from this broader view—one joyful canine spirit whose brief time touched my life profoundly, part of the endless cycle of companionship between humans and dogs stretching back thousands of years.
Transforming Loss Into Wisdom: Chewy’s Legacy
Perhaps the most profound Stoic insight about grief is that our losses, properly integrated, can deepen our capacity for wisdom and compassion. Chewy’s death has gradually become not just a wound but also a teacher.
His absence has heightened my awareness of the preciousness of all my relationships. The pain of his loss has connected me to others who understand this particular grief. And most importantly, the unconditional love he showed me daily serves as a model for how I might approach my human relationships—with presence, forgiveness, and joy in simple pleasures.
Marcus Aurelius, who experienced numerous personal losses, wrote: “Loss is nothing else but change, and change is Nature’s delight.”
This doesn’t mean I delight in losing Chewy, but that I can recognize his death as part of the natural flux of existence. The same process that gave me the gift of his companionship in the first place.
Stoicism doesn’t offer an escape from the grief. Instead, it provides a framework for moving through the pain with dignity and eventually finding meaning beyond the suffering. It acknowledges that the price of loving deeply is the inevitability of loss and suggests that the price, however painful, is worth paying.
In the words of Seneca: “Time heals what reason cannot.” The greatest Stoic lesson for those grieving a pet may be the virtue of patience—with the process, with others who may not understand this particular loss, and most importantly, with ourselves as we navigate the changed landscape of our days without them by our side.