My eyes blinked open, slowly, and my thoughts immediately jumped to checking in on my cat, Monster.
Ever since turning 10 last year, I am noticing her age, more and more. I’ve had her since she was old enough to leave her cat mamma, and we’ve been the one constant in each others lives for the past 10 years; (aside from the brief time she spent living with my own mom, while my partner and I started our move across the country).
It’s nothing, and everything all at once.
There is no one specific reason I should be scared she’ll be unresponsive when I go to greet her in the morning. Instead, it’s layered, many reasons and past experiences that feed this worry. And those layered fears are so heavy to carry, especially as they echo with past grief.
The past week’s been a whirlwind for all three of us (Monster, my partner, and myself) experiencing some differences and challenges to our physical wellness… but nothing so serious that I should expecting to find her, still, cold, and passed on.
But still, I brace myself for the inevitable, because I can only imagine the depth of hurt that I am going to feel when that day does come.
This is how my heart shields itself: it practices grief through worry.
But the fear of loss, whether you want to label it as an invasive thought or something deeply resonant, is a representation of the love I have for that sweet fuzzball, Monster.
Grief is love, unbound.
Being scared to find her unresponsive one morning is a valid fear, yet one that the true outcome would not hurt me physically (in the moment), one that I know I can survive, and one that will eventually happen in some capacity, even if not the exact scenario. So why still fear it?
It’s not just the event of her passing I fear, but the vastness of the emotions that will rise when it happens. My heart's own tender armour, shielding itself from the enormity of loving so fiercely.
Fear, love, and the bittersweet truth of impermanence create a heady cocktail.
And for someone with little natural earth energy in their chart, I've found practical and grounding practices to be especially essential.
At first, I tried to meet my grief and fear, where they were at. Acknowledging their presence and asking what they needed to feel heard. Offering gentleness, instead of resistance or interrogation.
And then I got curious: Might there be a way to honour my fierce love, now, in this moment, without needing to outrun its eventual echo of grief? How could I show my gratitude for all the tender moments of love, in a grounded practical way?
Rather than letting fear be the loudest voice, I decided to honour my love for Monster in a tangible way — one that could anchor me in gratitude rather than dread.
The Vessel of Love Ritual
Purpose:
To honour the presence of your beloved animal friend, by transforming pre-grief into daily gratitude. This ritual serves as a living testament to your love, creating a tangible archive of cherished moments. Over time, it becomes both a comfort in the present and a beacon of remembrance for the future, reminding you that love does not vanish — it only changes form.
Supplies:
- A vessel (jar, bowl, or any container that feels special)
- A pen/pencil/marker
- Scrap paper
- A dedicated space (altar, shelf, nightstand, or anywhere meaningful)
Prep:
- Pre-cut your scrap paper to a size that feels right
- Cleanse the vessel and the space where it will live, if you feel called
- Set an intention for this ritual — perhaps one of love, presence, or deep appreciation
- Make this as simple or elaborate as you desire
The Ritual:
Whenever you feel called — nightly, in moments of deep love, or when intuition nudges you — take a moment to reflect on your time together. Write down something you cherish about your animal companion: a shared moment, a small joy, or a quality that makes them uniquely them. Fold the paper and place it in the vessel, allowing it to become a growing wellspring of love.
If grief or fear arises, acknowledge it without judgment. Let it sit beside your love, neither diminishing the other. Over time, this ritual not only captures the essence of your bond but also shifts the weight of anticipatory loss into a practice of presence.
When the vessel is full, you may choose to read through the notes, create an offering, or find another way to honour their memory when the time comes. Until then, let it be a sanctuary of love, a reminder that what is cherished is never truly lost.
Love, like energy, does not disappear — it only changes form.
How do you honour the love you hold for your animal friends? E-mail me to let me know!
"What we once enjoyed and deeply loved we can never lose, for all that we love deeply becomes a part of us." — Helen Keller
Below is a practice I created for honouring grief. You can find more tools and support at my website: www.theunseenrealm.ca