Things I Learned From Vet: Nuances of Grief, Part 2
Last time, I talked about how grief shows up in different ways and in different situations. There's the sudden loss of an unexpected death, the crushing of hope when an improving patient takes a turn for the worse, and the grief of choosing when to say goodbye. Characters can encounter all these types of grief as they live through the plot--and what I want to talk about today is how the individual personality of the character influences their behavior.
Everyone experiences and manifests grief in different ways. During a euthanasia, I always do the same things. I come in and tell them about the sedative. "It makes it calmer on then, gives you a few extra minutes to say goodbye, and then we come back for the final injection." They get a few minutes of privacy, then I explain it's essentially an anaesthetic overdose, and what they can expect during their pet's final moments. Then we find a vein, I ask if they're ready, and other than the occasional complication, the pet relaxes, breathes a deep last breath, and I listen to the heart until I can nod and say, "She's gone."
What the people do, on the other hand, varies.
The Stoic
There are those who don't cry openly. You can see the sorrow on their face, but at most they'll give a few sniffles or one or two tears. They may try to talk normally, though they'll be brief and only say what's absolutely necessary. ("Do you want to sit with him for a while longer?" "No, thank you.")
The Tearful Goodbyes
They go through the whole tissue box, and talk to the pet the entire time. They'll say how much they love her, how she's going to a place where there's no pain, how wonderful it's been having her. They ignore me, and focus on their farewell.
The Accepting
Some people are remarkably unperturbed by the process. I don't doubt some of them go home and bawl their eyes out, but what I see of them is a completely calm, coherent owner who's made a rational decision and knows it. They don't have the barely-suppressed-sorrow look of The Stoic, so much as an air of, "This is the best thing for everybody."
The Talkers
It's not unusual for pet owners to share their fondest memories. They might talk about all the silly things she does, or how the other pets have been dealing with her illness, or what she was like as a kitten. There's a note of joy to the sadness, as they reflect on all the positives their companion has added to their life.
The Guilty
Rightly or wrongly, some people feel a tremendous sense of guilt over what's happened. They're blaming themselves for not seeking vet care sooner, or not noticing the pet was unwell, or inventing all sorts of bizarre possible causes like feeding a different food or using a house cleaning product while she was ill or some other trivial thing. They search for reassurance, and their focus is often on talking to me as opposed to the pet, and trying to understand the disease process. They have a lot of questions, often of the form, "Is it possible that...?" And even if I explain repeatedly and tell them there's nothing they could have done, you can tell they'll still keep feeling guilty.
How this relates to writing:
I think it goes without saying that characters have different personalities, which will influence how they deal with any given situation. Probably the most important element here is that you can't predict who will do what. A big beefy guy may be a sobber, and a frail old lady with no other pets or family may be an accepter. A client who brought the pet in at the earliest possible moment and did everything exactly as I told them to may be blaming themselves for half a dozen things they imagine they could have done differently. This is a personal and intimate moment that draws on very deep facets of someone's personality. It's also strongly influenced by how well they understand what's happened. This can all be extrapolated to characters--how they perceive events, what their hopes or expectations were, how sudden the loss, and who they are deep down. Characters dealing with grief in a way you wouldn't quite expect can provide an extra layer of depth to their personality. And readers who've experienced grief may be able to point at them and say, "Ah, that's exactly how I dealt with it, too. I'm glad it's not just me."
Disclaimer: I'm not a psychologist and don't know what I'm talking about beyond personal experience.
Everyone experiences and manifests grief in different ways. During a euthanasia, I always do the same things. I come in and tell them about the sedative. "It makes it calmer on then, gives you a few extra minutes to say goodbye, and then we come back for the final injection." They get a few minutes of privacy, then I explain it's essentially an anaesthetic overdose, and what they can expect during their pet's final moments. Then we find a vein, I ask if they're ready, and other than the occasional complication, the pet relaxes, breathes a deep last breath, and I listen to the heart until I can nod and say, "She's gone."
What the people do, on the other hand, varies.
The Stoic
There are those who don't cry openly. You can see the sorrow on their face, but at most they'll give a few sniffles or one or two tears. They may try to talk normally, though they'll be brief and only say what's absolutely necessary. ("Do you want to sit with him for a while longer?" "No, thank you.")
The Tearful Goodbyes
They go through the whole tissue box, and talk to the pet the entire time. They'll say how much they love her, how she's going to a place where there's no pain, how wonderful it's been having her. They ignore me, and focus on their farewell.
The Accepting
Some people are remarkably unperturbed by the process. I don't doubt some of them go home and bawl their eyes out, but what I see of them is a completely calm, coherent owner who's made a rational decision and knows it. They don't have the barely-suppressed-sorrow look of The Stoic, so much as an air of, "This is the best thing for everybody."
The Talkers
It's not unusual for pet owners to share their fondest memories. They might talk about all the silly things she does, or how the other pets have been dealing with her illness, or what she was like as a kitten. There's a note of joy to the sadness, as they reflect on all the positives their companion has added to their life.
The Guilty
Rightly or wrongly, some people feel a tremendous sense of guilt over what's happened. They're blaming themselves for not seeking vet care sooner, or not noticing the pet was unwell, or inventing all sorts of bizarre possible causes like feeding a different food or using a house cleaning product while she was ill or some other trivial thing. They search for reassurance, and their focus is often on talking to me as opposed to the pet, and trying to understand the disease process. They have a lot of questions, often of the form, "Is it possible that...?" And even if I explain repeatedly and tell them there's nothing they could have done, you can tell they'll still keep feeling guilty.
How this relates to writing:
I think it goes without saying that characters have different personalities, which will influence how they deal with any given situation. Probably the most important element here is that you can't predict who will do what. A big beefy guy may be a sobber, and a frail old lady with no other pets or family may be an accepter. A client who brought the pet in at the earliest possible moment and did everything exactly as I told them to may be blaming themselves for half a dozen things they imagine they could have done differently. This is a personal and intimate moment that draws on very deep facets of someone's personality. It's also strongly influenced by how well they understand what's happened. This can all be extrapolated to characters--how they perceive events, what their hopes or expectations were, how sudden the loss, and who they are deep down. Characters dealing with grief in a way you wouldn't quite expect can provide an extra layer of depth to their personality. And readers who've experienced grief may be able to point at them and say, "Ah, that's exactly how I dealt with it, too. I'm glad it's not just me."
Disclaimer: I'm not a psychologist and don't know what I'm talking about beyond personal experience.
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