When my dog slipped away at the veterinarian’s office on Tuesday, I felt inconsolable, but knew I needed to pull it together. My son would be getting home from kindergarten soon. When I walked in the door, I wanted to appear normal, to talk with him about our pug’s passing almost matter-of-factly, as though death were a natural thing, a new phase, no big deal, and not something that could flatten you.
So I held Mister Tuppence one last time, stroked his fur, breathed in his scent, told him I loved him, and couldn’t stop crying. I let him know he was the best dog in the world (because he was). Then I walked out, sat in my car, and felt his absence. My head pounded, and I felt like throwing up.
Of course, my son at 5-years-old has keen detective skills. When I walked in the door, he looked at my face, cocked his head, and said, “You’ve been crying. I can tell by your eyes. They’re red and wet. Why have you been crying, Mommy?”
“Did Daddy tell you about Mister Tuppence?” I asked him.
“Yeah, he did,” Charlie said and went back to playing. He told me, not unkindly, that I should go upstairs and be alone if I needed to cry.
And so I went upstairs.
How to talk to children about losing their pet.
That night, I wrote that Facebook post, the one where you tell your friends that your sweet pet has died—the request for consolation. The kind thoughts came pouring in, and I accepted them gratefully, reading all the messages and appreciating them, even though I felt too exhausted to reply.
I’m still processing the death of my little guy, and here’s what I’m learning:
Even though your dog wasn’t a person, he was your family, and his life and death matters. Allow yourself to grieve fully.
If you think it will help, let yourself make that Facebook post, the sappy one that essentially asks your friends to console you. Because they will, and it helps. Loss is a universal, so even if your friends didn’t know your pet, they know the experience. Care and love from your friends always makes it better, even though it can’t take the entirety of the hurt away. And if your friends did know your pet, then a Facebook post can be a really good way to consolidate memories.
Let yourself cycle through memories. The night Mister Tuppence died, I was preoccupied with what was left of him, the empty water dish, his collar and leash (still redolent of his scent), his kennel and dog bed. But when I woke up the next morning at 4 a.m., the memories of his entire life came rushing back. This was a good thing, and also powerful. When I thought about all that he meant to me, I was gasping with tears.
My family was lucky enough to have Mister Tuppence for nearly 16 years, and it floored me to think about all the life events that he had been a sweet, simple part of.
I remember how, in his final days, his doggy dementia had progressed. He would back himself into an odd corner of the house and howl. We would give him food and water, and he would howl; we would let him out, and he would howl; we would pet him, and he would howl. This agitation was new and scary and seemed to happen mostly at night. It reminded me of what my friend Tris, who had worked in nursing homes, had described as “sunsetting,” the agitation that people who have Alzheimer’s or dementia experience particularly once the sun goes down. I Googled to see if that was a thing in dogs. It was.
But I also remember walking him on a leash for the first time, how he bounded forth so quickly, straining the leash, pure energy. Back then, he seemed to always be saying, “Why walk if you can run?” When we let him out of his kennel every morning, he’d run down the stairs so quickly, his back legs seemed to disappear.
I remember the way he bonded with our first foster child. She was only 10 months old when she came to us, so neither of them had language, per se, but even so, they became fast friends and soon devised a chasing game that gave them both a lot of joy. For one week before she was reunited with her family, that little girl was thrust into a strange environment, but having Mister Tuppence around made her happy and gave her comfort.
I remember a cabin trip we took to Grand Marais in 2016. By then, Mister Tuppence was blind and deaf, but he seemed to enjoy the fresh air and large expanse of backyard wilderness as much as we did. One day, I put him out back to do his business, went inside, got distracted, and forgot about him. When I went outside, he was nowhere, and I panicked. We all searched for him, calling for a dog who couldn’t hear his name. I ran into the front yard and there he was, walking along the shoulder of the road. The funny thing was, he wasn’t walking away from the cabin, but toward it, as though he was returning from a great adventure. For the rest of that vacation, we joked, “Where had Tuppence gone? Had he been partying? What was he doing out there?” Even now, my son will ask me, “Remember when Mister Tuppence walked along the road? Where was he?”
All of these memories.
I remember the joy of meeting my little boy for the first time, smelling his puppy breath, holding him in my arms and loving him instantly and fully—knowing we were about to begin a great adventure.
Betsy Taylor, who wrote this story, works at Canvas Health.
Learn more about counseling services at Canvas Health.
When my dog slipped away at the veterinarian’s office on Tuesday, I felt inconsolable, but knew I needed to pull it together. My son would be getting home from kindergarten soon. When I walked in the door, I wanted to appear normal, to talk with him about our pug’s passing almost matter-of-factly, as though death […]
On Dec. 1, 2017, Canvas Health will welcome Deborah A. G. Drabick, PhD, Associate Professor and Director of Graduate Studies in the Department of Psychology at Temple University, to speak at its 25th Annual Conference on Psychotherapy and Mental Health. The conference will be held at the Maplewood Community Center in Maplewood, Minn.
Easily Annoyed or Made Angry: Understanding and Responding to Irritability is an interactive workshop that will provide an overview of the nature of irritability and anger across disorders and developmental periods. Participants will consider the roles that these transdiagnostic symptoms play among a variety of conditions and how contextual factors can exacerbate, maintain, or mitigate irritability and anger. Dr. Drabick will discuss effective, pragmatic, and developmentally appropriate assessment strategies, and interventions that can incorporate assessment results across settings.
Pre-approved CEUs will be available from the Minnesota Boards of Marriage and Family Therapy, Behavioral Health and Therapy, Social Work, and Psychology.
Register for the conference here. Early bird rates are available until Nov. 20, 2017.
On Dec. 1, 2017, Canvas Health will welcome Deborah A. G. Drabick, PhD, Associate Professor and Director of Graduate Studies in the Department of Psychology at Temple University, to speak at its 25th Annual Conference on Psychotherapy and Mental Health. The conference will be held at the Maplewood Community Center in Maplewood, Minn. Easily Annoyed […]
On Aug. 19, 2017, 80-year-old Richard Collen drove his truck into Goodview Park in Wyoming, Minnesota, and parked alongside the silent auction tent. Hitched to the back was a precious load: a 1938 Allis-Chalmers B tractor. Collen, who lives in East Bethel, had restored the vintage tractor in memory of his great-grandson, Tim Hickerson. The young man died by suicide in 2015.
Collen had donated the tractor to the Stomp Out Suicide 5K silent auction. The yearly Stomp Out Suicide event benefits Canvas Health, which operates the suicide prevention phone and text lines for the state of Minnesota and provides mobile crisis counseling for greater metro residents.
Collen’s goal was simple: He wanted his tractor to save lives.
Collen and Hickerson’s shared love of tractors—and that particular 1938 Allis-Chalmers B tractor—dated back to when Hickerson was just a boy.
In 1996, Collen and his young great-grandson first spotted the orange tractor on the side of the road, half buried in mud. “You should buy it,” Hickerson told Collen. “It could be our project.” Hickerson was only 5 then, but he and his great-grandpa already shared a special bond. They liked vehicles and restoration, taking things apart, learning how they worked, and putting them back together again.
When Hickerson passed away at just 21 years old, Collen felt as though a vital part of himself had been removed, never to be replaced.
“He was my buddy,” says Collen.
Buying the tractor and setting about the work of restoring it gave Collen an outlet for his grief. Donating the tractor to the Stomp Out Suicide 5K was his way of helping prevent another family from ever having to experience the loss of a loved one by suicide. Tractors like Collen’s typically fetch between $1,500 and $2,500 at auction, but there were no bids on the day of the event. So he drove the tractor home.
Boyd Huppert of KARE-11 learned about Collen’s donation and aired a “Land of 10,000 Stories” segment about the tractor on his Sept. 19 broadcast.
Chuck Brown of Minnetrista and his wife were sitting in bed watching the 10 o’clock news when Huppert’s story came on. For a few minutes afterward, they sat in silence, too moved to speak. They had lost a dear friend to suicide in May and were still so sad. They hadn’t been able to make sense of any of it.
But buying this tractor, Brown believed, could do some good.
Brown sent an email to Canvas Health, talked with Colleen on the phone, and ultimately purchased the tractor for $2,500. Including the tractor, this year’s Stomp Out Suicide event raised nearly $78,000 to help save lives.
The calls and emails to Canvas Health with inquiries about the tractor began as a trickle and became an outpouring as people shared the segment online. The tractor is sold now, but we hope people will continue to give in memory of Tim Hickerson, and in honor of his great-grandpa, who loved him so much.
The Stomp Out Suicide 5K Walk/Run & Have Fun event was founded by Katie and Sean Haines in memory of their daughter Alissa, who died by suicide at the tender age of 15. The event, which benefits Canvas Health, provides a way for people to remember loved ones and raise money for suicide prevention. Please mark your calendar for next year’s Stomp Out Suicide event, which will take place on Aug. 18, 2018.
On Aug. 19, 2017, 80-year-old Richard Collen drove his truck into Goodview Park in Wyoming, Minnesota, and parked alongside the silent auction tent. Hitched to the back was a precious load: a 1938 Allis-Chalmers B tractor. Colleen’s goal was simple: He wanted his tractor to save lives.
In making her first phone call to Canvas Health, Katy Steigauf, a nurse, finally decided to give herself the same care and attention she’d always given to her patients.
“You are not a good influence on me, and I have decided that my life is worth more than drinking you.”—Canvas Health client Katy Steigauf in a breakup letter to alcohol
Katy Steigauf sits down at the café and orders a carafe of coffee. She’s a night nurse, and caffeine provides that little extra fuel to help her keep going.
As recently as last year, she thought alcohol served a similarly useful function. It helped her blow off steam after a long day at work. It had helped her numb the pain of her dad’s cancer and his death, as well as the everyday stress of raising three kids. And besides, drinking helped her connect with people.
“Alcohol was great for coping with every emotion, whether I was happy, sad, or mad. I could make a justification out of everything,” says Steigauf.
Champagne, especially, did the trick. “I always liked champagne because it’s fun, you could go out and have it with your friends. If they served you a mixed drink, it might be watered down, but champagne always was what it was,” says Steigauf, sipping her coffee. “You opened the bottle, and that’s exactly what you got.”
But by 2016, Steigauf was beginning to worry about her relationship with alcohol. “I would go out to the garage away from my kids and sneak a drink directly from the bottle because that’s how classy I am,” says Steigauf. “I would think to myself, ‘Am I an alcoholic?’”
Things came to a head last October. “Oct. 4 was a Tuesday, so you know, it was Taco Tuesday. And not only was it Taco Tuesday, it was also National Taco Day, so of course, I was drinking,” shrugs Steigauf and laughs.
Normally, Steigauf went on shift at 11 p.m., but she’d forgotten she’d agreed to pick up a few hours for a coworker. She was expected at 7 p.m. instead of 11—not enough time for the effects of the alcohol to wear off. “I thought I could wing it,” remembers Steigauf. “As it turned out, I obviously couldn’t. I shouldn’t have been drinking.”
Steigauf’s boss suspected she was under the influence and asked her to take a sobriety test. Steigauf failed it. “I should have known better,” says Steigauf, who still feels the shame of that day. “I carry the insurance for my family. I had put them at risk.”
Steigauf was put on medical leave. The next day, she found it hard to get out of bed. “I felt like a failure,” says Steigauf. “I felt embarrassed. I felt despair. I wondered, ‘What am I going to do now?’”
On the second day, however, she made the call to Minnesota’s Health Professional Service Program (HPSP). The HPSP, a nursing governance body, mandated 300 hours of intensive substance treatment for Steigauf before she could potentially come back to work.
Steigauf decided that this was it—she would commit herself to quit drinking. She chose Canvas Health because of its proximity to home and its track record of helping people get sober. For nearly 50 years, Canvas Health has provided services to people struggling with substance use, mental illness, crisis, unstable housing, and trauma.
At Canvas Health, Steigauf immediately felt at ease. “The intake person was very understanding and really took the time with me,” says Steigauf. “She told me, ‘This is an illness. Don’t be ashamed of it.’”
Steigauf began having one-on-one sessions with Bob Jones, her Canvas Health counselor, in addition to group meetings. Canvas Health uses a cognitive behavioral approach to treating substance use disorders, asking clients to replace the unhealthy thinking that underlies the drinking with healthier thoughts.
As a nurse, Steigauf had written meticulous notes on her patients, and she approached the work of her sobriety with the same thoroughness.
“Bob started me with a planner from day one,” says Katy, patting the thick notebook beside her. “The purpose is to make us more mindful of how we use our time. First he asked me to document what actually happens in a day. Then he started giving me assignments.”
“I would take notes from each meeting and put it in the binder,” says Steigauf, turning to a page in her notebook. “Here’s a quote from the first night: ‘Many of life’s failures are people who didn’t realize how close they were to success when they gave up.’”
Steigauf and her husband decided to be completely honest with her kids about her drinking and the need to get sober. “The hush thing was what had obviously gotten me into trouble in the first place,” says Steigauf. “I wanted them to feel like they could talk about it openly with me or with their friends.”
Her daughter Abby had been reluctant to attend a family therapy meeting—but she wound up attending all five.
“We have a closer bond now,” says Abby.
Steigauf completed treatment successfully in March, but she still checks in with Jones and attends two support meetings a week. She’s back at work and doing well.
You could say that Steigauf’s life has gone back to normal, but that’s not true—her life is better than before, and it goes deeper than simply not drinking. Through and through, Steigauf feels healed.
“I’m really proud of my mom,” says Abby. “She’s done a good job of staying well.”
To schedule an appointment with a Substance Use Counselor at Canvas Health, or to make a referral, please contact us at 651-777-5222.
In making her first phone call to Canvas Health, Katy Steigauf, a nurse, finally decided to give herself the same care and attention she’d always given to her patients.
