Undertaker's Dog E-Book

Tim Reedy

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 300

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

The loss of a beloved pet can be as profound—if not more so—than the grief we experience for human family members. Our pets are not just animals; they are companions, confidants, and cherished members of our lives. One of the most powerful ways to navigate this loss is through remembrance. This book is a tribute to the unbreakable bond between pet and owner, offering heartfelt stories that celebrate the lives of those who have crossed over. Within these pages, you’ll find cherished memories and meaningful ways to honor and memorialize the pets who have left their paw prints on our hearts. Each chapter is dedicated to a pet whose journey has led them into the light, a testament to the enduring connection that transcends time, space, and even death. The final chapter is reserved for you—to remember and commemorate your beloved companions who are no longer physically by your side. Though they may be gone, they remain woven into the fabric of our hearts and memories, living on in the love they left behind.

Leseprobe

Howard Publishing Group

Copyright © 2025 by Tim Reedy

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

ISBN

979-8-9929290-0-3: Undertaker's Dog: Our Pets' Journey to the Afterlife (Paperback)

979-8-9929290-1-0: Undertaker's Dog: Our Pets' Journey to the Afterlife (Hardcover)

979-8-9929290-2-7: Undertaker's Dog: Our Pets' Journey to the Afterlife (eBook)

For James, a dear friend who dedicated his life to undertaking

and

For Walter; you are truly missed, even though you’re always close

Table of Contents

Chapter I With All the Memories

Chapter II Making Sure They Get to Heaven

Chapter III Family Commemorates

Chapter IV A Loving Tribute

Chapter V A Companion in Later Years

Chapter VI The Community Remembers

Chapter VII A Bond That Cannot be Broken

Chapter VIII A Light That Never Fades

Chapter IX Memorial for a Faithful Friend

Chapter X The Undertaker's Dog

Chapter XI Lasting Memories

Chapter

I

With All the Memories

For Lacey, Always with Love

To the best of my knowledge, the stories in this book are true. The names of both people and pets have been changed to protect their privacy. While you may find these stories heartbreaking at first, they are much more than tales of loss—they are a testament to the deep, unbreakable bond we share with our pets. I hope that this book brings you comfort and peace during your time of grief.

One might ask, “How long does it take to heal from losing a pet?” The truth is, there’s no single answer. For some, the pain eases in a matter of weeks; for others, it never fully fades. Losing a pet is never easy, especially when you share a unique connection with them. I wrote this book to remind you that your beloved pet’s life—the years they spent as your faithful companion—holds far more meaning than their passing. The bond you shared cannot be replicated because it was theirs alone to give. They chose you just as much as you chose them. They were there in moments when the darkness felt overwhelming, and they stood by your side during life’s greatest joys—whether it was a quiet evening at home, a wedding celebration, or a peaceful sunset by the shore. Their devotion never wavered because they knew yours never would.

Their life had meaning. It’s okay to grieve, but it’s also okay to celebrate the love, memories, and time you shared because in the end, their life was not just a chapter in yours—it was a story of love, loyalty, and an unspoken promise that will never fade.

As you turn the pages of this book, you might find yourself wondering: What exactly is an undertaker? Is that term even used anymore? Today, most people are more familiar with terms such as funeral director, cremation specialist, or simply funeral home services. You may have even heard the term mortician. However, if you ask a modern funeral director, they will tell you they prefer not to be called an undertaker or mortician—words that, while historically significant, often carry outdated or unsettling connotations. The reality of the job is quite different. While our work is inevitably tied to death, it is far from grim or unpleasant. At its core, it is a profession of service, dignity, and compassion. I prefer the term “undertaker” because I undertake the pain that others cannot bear. And as a pet undertaker, I show up to serve both the public and my community whenever I am needed.

Being a pet undertaker is not a traditional nine-to-five job. Neither do we operate on a Monday-through-Friday schedule, nor do we enjoy the luxury of weekends off. Our work does not pause for holidays or vacations—many of us go years without taking extended time away because we are dedicated to being there when our communities need us most. Death does not happen on a schedule, and neither does grief. I have answered calls well past midnight and before the sun has even risen. I’ve been dispatched to a home at night to care for a beloved pet that had passed in their sleep. No matter the hour or circumstance, we are always here—to offer support, provide guidance, and, most importantly, assist in the grieving process. Because when it comes to saying goodbye to a cherished companion, there is no convenient time. There is only the need for compassion, and that is what we provide.

What other profession experiences such a vast spectrum of emotions as an undertaker does? As an undertaker, I shoulder the grief of those who cannot bear it alone, guiding them through one of the most difficult moments of their lives. This is why I prefer the title “undertaker” over funeral director or mortician. To me, this profession is deeply personal—rooted in a level of trust that many never experience in their lifetime. Once that trust is established, it endures. Families return time and again, even after a decade or more, seeking the same care, understanding, and dignity for their loved ones—human or animal. Much of my work comes from repeat clients, people who first sought my services ten or fifteen years ago. That trust does not fade, and each time someone entrusts me with the final care of their beloved pet, I am both honored and humbled. Yet, no matter how many times I perform this service, there is always a tinge of sadness—some losses affect me more deeply than others.

Of course, I am a pet owner too. I have always been surrounded by animals; I can’t recall a time when there weren’t at least four pets—dogs, cats, or even a rabbit—roaming my home. I was in my early twenties when I decided to welcome a dog into my life. I’d reached out to the local animal control, knowing that many of the dogs there faced euthanasia within a week of arrival. That was when I found Stacey, a beautiful Beagle-Boxer mix. I named her after a dear friend who had passed. Soon after, I decided Stacey needed a companion. That was when Marley entered my life. He caught my eye instantly, and from that moment on, our bond was unbreakable, even during the hardest of times. Over the years, many more dogs followed—Cumo, Roscoe, Harmony, and Buster—each leaving an imprint on my heart and shaping the life I live today.

Death is a topic most of us instinctively avoid. We know that life is fleeting and that time moves with relentless impartiality, yet we try to push the thought of our mortality from our minds. The very idea of death can be unsettling—sometimes even terrifying. How many of us are eager to call an attorney and draft a will? Few, if any. It’s not just the prospect of speaking with a lawyer that makes us hesitate; it’s the unavoidable confrontation with our impermanence. That discomfort grows even heavier when we consider those we love most—our children, families, and, for many of us, our pets.

Rarely do families plan ahead for the passing of a beloved pet. The thought alone can feel too painful, too distant—until the moment arrives, and grief crashes in unexpectedly. However, some people do prepare. Pet funerals are becoming increasingly common as society shifts its perception of animals from mere companions to true family members. Some individuals begin making arrangements as early as in their forties, while others never plan at all, completely caught off guard when the time comes.

So, where do you turn to when your pet passes away? The internet, of course. A quick search for pet funeral homes or pet cremation services will likely yield more results than you expected. Surprised? You shouldn’t be. The sheer number of businesses catering to pet aftercare is a testament to how deeply we love our animals. They are not just pets—they are irreplaceable parts of our lives. And just as we ensure our human loved ones receive a dignified farewell, we want the same for our pets.

When it comes to our pets, we cling to the hope that they’ll stay by our side for as long as possible. Over the years, I’ve heard countless people say, “I thought my little dog would live at least twenty years.” Sometimes, they do—and sometimes, they don’t. It’s a heartbreaking reality that we must all eventually face. However, I assure you that the number of years they live will never outweigh the quality of life they had.

The quantity of life is largely unpredictable. One moment, everything seems as it should be, and the next, we’re facing an unexpected goodbye. In my experience, the average lifespan of a dog ranges between twelve and fifteen years, though this is just an estimate. Some dogs defy the odds and live much longer, while others—especially larger breeds—tend to have shorter lifespans. Occasionally, you’ll hear incredible stories of dogs living past twenty years. It’s rare, but it happens. I had the privilege of serving as the undertaker for a twenty-one-year-old beagle many years ago, and my dog, Roscoe, lived to be seventeen despite dealing with significant health challenges. We always hope for more time, but we also must find ways to prepare for the time we must spend without them.

That’s one of the reasons I chose to write down these stories—so that you might find the courage to share your own. Grief takes many forms. Some people keep everything bottled up inside until the emotions become too overwhelming to control. Others share every intimate detail of their pet’s passing, finding comfort in spoken words. I’ve always believed in finding a middle ground—a space where it’s okay to not only grieve but also celebrate the love and joy our deceased pets brought into our lives.

I don’t have all the answers about life and death. However, one thing I do know for certain is this: love does not fade, not even in death. The bond you create, the care you provide, and the memories you build together ensure that your pet will never truly be gone. They will never forget you—because you will never forget them.

Say you’ve just had the worst day of your life at work. Or perhaps it wasn’t work—perhaps it was one of those days where everything seemed to go wrong. Sound familiar? We’ve all been there. Yet, no matter how overwhelming, frustrating, or heartbreaking your day might have been, there’s a certain kind of comfort that only a beloved pet can provide. The moment you walk through the door and they greet you, tail wagging or purring in delight, the weight of the world seems to lift, if only for a moment. Their love is pure, unwavering, and unconditional.

How often do we find this kind of devotion in life? It’s rare, which is why the loss of a pet affects us so profoundly. We grieve not only the physical absence of our companion but also the unconditional love they gave so freely. It can feel as though that love has been lost forever—but I want to assure you, it hasn’t.

Through my years in this profession, I’ve witnessed repeatedly how the bond between humans and their pets transcends time, space, and even death. Love of that magnitude does not simply disappear. It lingers in our hearts, in the quiet moments when we recall their presence, in the memories they gifted us, and in the unwavering knowledge that one day, we will see them again. This is the reward for the love and care we gave them—a connection that cannot be broken, no matter what.

Your beloved pets enter this world without an instruction manual. Yet, if you were to ask any of them, they’d likely insist that one of the unspoken rules of being a pet is being as stubborn as possible. No matter how many times you tell them not to beg while you’re eating chicken or tuna, they will park themselves right beside you, staring with those big, pleading eyes, convinced that persistence will win them a bite. And when they find something questionable on the ground, they don’t hesitate to eat it—despite knowing it may make them sick later. That doesn’t concern them much because in their minds, you exist to clean up after them.

They wake you up at two in the morning because they drank too much water before bed, and despite the frigid air outside, they expect you to get up and take them out. Suggest using the doggy door? Absolutely not. That’s beneath them. They demand the royal treatment—the entire door swung open, as if they are the king or queen of the household. And you, their loyal subject, comply without hesitation.

Our pets can be headstrong, and this is a trait they carry with them to the end, a trait that helps them fight to stay by our side even when their bodies grow frail and diseases take their toll. It’s not just their nature though—it’s their love and unwavering, unconditional devotion that compels them to hold on for as long as they possibly can. They already know their place in heaven is secured, yet their only concern is us. They worry about how we will manage without them.

Thanks to my many years of experience, I know this to be true. I’ve seen it time and time again. There is no other explanation for why they hold on, sometimes defying all logic and medical odds, just to spend a little more time with the ones they love. For them, goodbye is never the end—it’s simply the start of another adventure. And as they take that journey, they wait patiently, knowing that one day, when the time is right, you will join them once again.

Our pets have an extraordinary way of telling us when it’s time for them to run free into the beautiful afterlife that awaits them. Though we often try to avoid the inevitable, I can assure you that your reward for being their devoted companion in life is the promise of seeing them again. They understand this truth even before we do and will do their best to communicate it in their own way.

Even as a pet undertaker, I sometimes struggled to listen when my pets were gently telling me it was time. Their message was never one of finality but rather a quiet reassurance that this was not goodbye—only a transition to a place without pain, a world filled with peace, boundless joy, and an endless supply of treats.

I want to assure you that it is natural to be stubborn, just as our beloved pets often are. It’s okay to want to hold onto them for just a little longer, to hesitate in letting go. After all, they are not just pets; they are a part of who we are, shaping our lives with their unconditional love. The thought of who we will be without them can be overwhelming, and that’s okay. They come into our world and teach us love, resilience, and joy in the simplest of moments, reminding us that life is richer than we often believe. And though they leave too soon, the imprint they leave on our hearts is forever.

Coping with loss comes naturally to some, while others find it overwhelming. Finding effective ways to navigate grief is deeply personal, and there is no right or wrong approach. For some, simply bringing their beloved pet home after services have been performed provides a sense of closure, letting them know their faithful companion is finally at rest. For others, speaking with a grief counselor can be an essential step toward healing—and yes, this is perfectly okay.

We grieve for our pets just as deeply, if not more so, than we do for our family members. I’m sure you’ve heard this sentiment expressed before. Over the years, I’ve heard it from many, including my neighbors after they suffered the loss of a cherished pet. Some find solace in welcoming another pet into their lives, believing their beloved companion would want them to move forward by saving another in their memory. Others, however, may say, “I just can’t go through this pain again,” choosing to avoid the heartache of another loss. Both feelings are entirely valid.

When we lose a loved one, we don’t replace them, but we do continue to meet new people and form new bonds, all while carrying the memories of those who came before. The same applies to our pets. Some find healing in unexpected places—whether it’s in adopting a new companion, engaging in new hobbies, or even taking up hobbies such as rock climbing (That’s one hobby I will personally never try—and I mean never!).

Grief is profoundly individual, and the ways we process and overcome it are unique to each of us. As you read this book, I hope you realize that support is always available when you’re ready to accept it. You are not alone in this journey—there are people who understand and are ready to help.

One of the most powerful ways to cope with the loss of a beloved pet is to share their memory. Talking about them is not only okay but also a beautiful way to honor their life and the love you shared. They’d likely be overjoyed to hear their stories retold, knowing they left an imprint on your heart. Share these memories with others, as you never know who might find comfort in them during their own time of grief.

When I first began my journey as a pet undertaker, structured grief support for families who lost pets was nearly nonexistent. Society had yet to fully recognize it as necessary. Today, we have countless ways to connect, from online pet memorials to social media groups dedicated to celebrating the lives of our cherished companions. Finding a community of people who understand your grief can be a profound source of healing. By opening up about your pet’s life, you help yourself as well as create a bridge for others struggling with their own loss. And if you’re worried about whether your pet would approve of their tales being told, rest assured—they wouldn’t mind at all. Even the mischievous ones, who got into more trouble than you could count, would probably smirk at the idea of their antics bringing comfort to someone else.

Memorializing your pet is another deeply personal and meaningful way to navigate grief. Throughout this book, you’ll find numerous ways of creating lasting tributes, whether by making paw impressions, locks of fur, or even collecting their whiskers as keepsakes. Some families choose to keep their pet’s ashes in an urn at home, finding solace in their continued presence. Others prefer burial or scattering their ashes in a place their pet adored. Over the years, many families have shared their traditions with me—some scatter their pet’s ashes in their backyard, on a favorite hiking trail, or even in the dog park where their pet often insisted on going, come rain or shine.

As a pet undertaker, I often reassure families that no matter where their pet’s remains rest, their spirit remains close, as loyal and devoted as ever. I’ve always chosen to keep the urns of my beloved pets with me. Even in death, they are coming with me—I won’t let them go. I suppose that makes me a little selfish, but I don’t mind admitting it. And sometimes, I can’t help but laugh at the thought of them looking down from their place on the shelf, rolling their eyes, and saying, “We always knew there was something a little off with him!”

Understanding the profound trust my clients place in me, I uphold an unwavering commitment to caring for those who have crossed into the afterlife. My approach to this sacred responsibility is guided by a simple yet powerful principle: I care for others’ beloved pets with the same level of dignity, respect, and compassion I would want for my pet after they have passed. In this industry, phrases such as “It’s just a cat” or “It’s just a dog” have no place. As pet undertakers, we do not simply perform a service—we take an oath, one built on trust, reverence, and the understanding that every pet is a cherished family member. With that trust comes the responsibility to ensure that each farewell is handled with the utmost care, providing comfort and closure to grieving families.

Grief and sorrow following the loss of a beloved pet are natural and deeply personal. No two individuals experience loss in the same way, just as no two bonds between a pet and their human are alike. Some find solace in quiet reflection, while others seek comfort in sharing stories and memories. Tears, whether shed in pain or gratitude, are a universal expression of love and loss. They can be a means of healing, a release of overwhelming emotion, or even a response to the unexpected kindness and grace of others. In this line of work, I have witnessed firsthand how profound love is—how it transcends time, even beyond the final goodbye.

Undertaking the sorrow and grief of others in their most painful moments is no simple task. As pet undertakers, we cannot erase the immense loss you feel, but we strive to ease even a fraction of that burden during your time of mourning. While I understand that our efforts often seem insufficient, please know that we approach our role with the highest level of compassion, respect, and dedication. The trust you place in us is sacred, and we hold it with the utmost reverence. Many of us have devoted our lives to this calling and, like you, have experienced profound loss—whether it be the passing of a cherished friend, family member, or beloved pet.

As you journey through this book, you will find that each chapter is dedicated to a pet I have loved and lost. These are not just stories but a reflection of the deep, unbreakable bond we all share with our faithful companions. The final chapter is reserved for you—a space to honor your own beloved pet. It is a place where memories live on, where love transcends loss, and where you can hold onto the moments that made your time together so special. Though they may be physically absent, their spirit lives on, forever woven into the fabric of your heart.

Chapter

II

Making Sure

They Get to Heaven

For Lucky, The Warmest of Memories

What do you say to a child who is grieving the loss of a pet? The pain of losing a cherished companion is not limited to adults—children of all ages experience grief and mourning when they have to say goodbye to their furry friends. For many, their pet has been part of their lives for as long as they can remember. Some children grow up with a dog or cat by their side, sharing countless memories before leaving for college or stepping into adulthood. Though life moves forward, the bond with a pet remains, much like that with a beloved family member.

Take Betsy, for example. She was but a frightened little puppy, rescued from a noisy and overcrowded animal control facility. When her new family decided to adopt her, they were excited to bring a dog into their home, never realizing just how much she would come to mean to them. Seven years later, their family grew once more—this time, in an unexpected and miraculous way. After years of uncertainty, they welcomed a daughter, a child they had once been told might never come. Betsy had unknowingly been the bridge to a future filled with love, companionship, and hope.

House calls are an essential part of the pet undertaking business. Whether retrieving a pet that has passed naturally at home or assisting after a veterinarian has performed euthanasia, these visits require both professionalism and compassion. Throughout my career, I have spent a significant amount of time in the homes of grieving families and realized that trust is a fundamental aspect of this work because not only do families rely on us to care for their beloved pets in the afterlife, but they also expect us to be respectful and considerate while in their home.

In many cases, house calls extend beyond retrieval. Some families request private backyard burials, a practice that was surprisingly common when I first entered the profession. At the time, these requests made up about % of my work. While that number may not seem high, when you’re physically digging graves, it certainly feels substantial.

House calls also often involve returning a pet’s cremains. Families may purchase an urn from you immediately or take time before making that decision. Either way, sensitivity is paramount—these services are never promoted or pressured, as grief is deeply personal and should be respected. The pet-undertaking profession is a comprehensive service for those who seek it, offering care, dignity, and support during one of the most difficult moments in a pet owner’s life.

I arrived on a frigid January night, deep in the rural outskirts beyond the city’s reach. It was the kind of place where you could drive for miles without passing a single house or seeing a single light—only the stars cast their quiet glow over the vast darkness.

One thing you quickly learn as a pet undertaker is that GPS isn’t always reliable, especially in the more remote parts of the country. It has led me astray more than once, and that night was no exception. After a few wrong turns and recalculations, I finally found the home.

A grand, white Victorian stood in sharp contrast against the dark night, its timeless elegance softened by the warm glow from within. As I pulled into the driveway, my headlights swept over scattered toys outside—evidence of small children in the home. Some belonged to them, no doubt, but others, I imagined, had belonged to the beloved dog I had come for.

Over the years, I’ve often heard statements such as “My four-year-old doesn’t really understand what’s going on right now,”or“Can you please be very quiet and quick while picking up my beloved pet? I don’t want to wake the children.” But the truth is, children understand far more than we give them credit for. Even at a young age, they are fully aware that there’s a pet in the house. Whether it’s a dog, cat, bird, or even a fish, they recognize that another living being is part of their home. More importantly, they can feel the love that radiates from that bond.

And yes—even a fish can provide unconditional love. I often say this to those who hesitate when asking about cremation for their small aquatic companion, wondering if it seems odd. There’s nothing strange about honoring the life of a cherished pet. Memorializing a family member, whether it is a loyal dog or a tiny fish, is an act of love and respect. I understand this firsthand. Years ago, I had my rabbit cremated, and to this day, I keep the urn in my cabinet—a quiet reminder that love, in all its forms, never truly leaves us.

I have often been asked for advice on how to talk to children about the death of a beloved pet. One of the most memorable situations involved a parent seeking guidance on how to break the news to their college-aged child, who was away from home. Should they tell them immediately? Should they wait a few days to soften the blow? Or should they wait until their child is less overwhelmed with schoolwork?

The loss of a pet is deeply emotional, and while every family navigates grief differently, withholding the truth—especially from older children—is rarely beneficial. My advice in this situation is to break the news when you feel ready but to never delay too long. There is no universal rule dictating the perfect moment to inform a child away at college that their pet has passed. Some parents may choose to break the news over the phone right away, while others might wait until their child returns home for a break. Ultimately, the best approach depends on your child’s emotional needs and the dynamics of your relationship. The key is to approach the conversation with honesty, compassion, and sensitivity.

As I approached the house, I noticed the front door was already propped open, and a woman stood in the entryway, peering outside. It’s not uncommon for people to wonder what a pet undertaker looks like. The truth is, we look just like anyone else. We own homes, take our dogs on car rides or vacations at the beach, and support families of our own. But we also carry a deep understanding of the delicate moments that come when a pet passes away at home—anticipated yet always sudden. Anticipated, because an illness or terminal diagnosis may have prepared the family for this moment; they care for their beloved companion, waiting for that unspoken sign that it is time. Yet sudden, because no one is ever truly prepared to find their pet lying peacefully, having passed in their sleep.

As I walked to the door, the woman swung it open wider. She took one look at me, noting the clipboard in my hand and the way I shivered slightly from the cold.

“Is that all you have? You know the dog weighs about pounds, right?”

“Yes, ma’am, I understand. I’ll need to gather some information before I can remove your beloved pet from the property.”

I often find myself speaking to the wrong person in these moments. And in this case, I already knew I was addressing the wrong person.

“Oh, I don’t live here. She wasn’t my dog. I’m the neighbor from next door,” the woman replied.

I paused. I had just spent fifteen minutes driving down this road, and I hadn’t seen a single house along the way. Granted, my focus had been on the road rather than counting homes, but usually, you can get a sense of how spaced out the neighbors are. And in this case, they had to be pretty far apart.

“I apologize, ma’am. I wasn’t sure if you were the homeowner or not,” I said.

“She called me down here when she realized that Betsy had passed away,” the woman explained. “Her husband isn’t home; he’s at work right now.” That made sense. It’s not uncommon, especially for those with jobs that keep them on the road or require late hours.

“Come on in. I’ll get Angela. She’s a little upset,” she added. That was understandable. Losing a beloved pet is never easy.

I stepped into the foyer of the home, the rich brown wood gleaming beneath my feet—if I recall correctly. The ceilings stretched impossibly high, some of the tallest I had ever seen. Then again, every home I had owned or lived in had ceilings of the standard seven or eight feet, nothing quite as grand as this. From the entryway, you could look straight up and see the upstairs balcony. The thought of standing up there and peering down made my stomach lurch. I’m no engineer, but just imagining that height was unsettling. Yes, even pet undertakers can have a fear of heights—not that it comes up often in my line of work.

In the kitchen, I saw Angela, the mother of the household. She stood at the counter, staring down at her phone, her fingers moving in quick bursts across the screen. Likely texting her husband or a close relative to let them know that Betsy had passed away that evening. I stepped forward and gently introduced myself. “Hello, I’m Tim. I’m so sorry for your loss. My heart goes out to you.”

You never truly know what to say in moments like these. If you’ve ever stumbled over your words when comforting someone who has lost a loved one, don’t feel bad. It happens to all of us—even those of us in the undertaking profession. More times than I can count, I’ve found myself grasping for the right words. The most important thing, I’ve learned, is to be present and as empathetic as possible. Let them know, in whatever way you can, that you genuinely care and that they are not alone in their grief.

“Thank you for coming at this late hour. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

It was thoughtful of her to consider me, though entirely unnecessary.

“Not at all. I usually work nights.”

A small white lie never hurt anyone, especially when it serves to offer comfort. Empathy is essential in moments like these—when someone is grappling with the loss of a beloved pet. The absence of tears isn’t unusual in the undertaking profession; shock often takes precedence over sorrow. In these early moments of grief, people are often at a loss for words, uncertain of how to process or express their emotions.

The paperwork in this job can be tedious, especially when it involves asking someone else to complete it. It’s one thing to handle the endless forms of routine matters, but it’s an entirely different challenge when it involves a loved one. The moment feels impossibly heavy, yet protocol demands that even in the most difficult times, a slip must be filled out.

I set the clipboard down, taking a brief moment to gauge the right time to make the request. Afterall, timing is everything. I could see right away that Angela wasn’t ready—not even close. Her silence spoke louder than any refusal could have.

Instead of pressing the matter, I asked gently, “Could I ask where Betsy is right now?”

Angela didn’t respond verbally. She simply lifted her hand and pointed toward the living room. I gave a small nod and walked toward Betsy. She lay peacefully in her bed, her presence serene. At the time, I hadn’t realized that Angela had placed her there for her final moments in the house.

I spent a few moments watching Betsy, preparing her for her final journey in the home she had loved for nearly fourteen years. This was a routine I had grown accustomed to, yet each time carried its own weight. I had long since learned not to kneel beside a pet to confirm their passing; an early experience had taught me that lesson. On one of my first pickups, I had done just that, only to be met with a sharp remark: “You don’t think I can tell she’s gone?”

The woman who spoke was in her eighties, and I had no doubt she could recognize the absence of life in her faithful companion. “Sorry, ma’am,” I had replied, unsure of what else to say. She had spoken with a quiet, restrained anger—the kind that comes from grief rather than malice. People grieve in their own ways, and I had learned to give them space for that.

I turned and walked back into the kitchen. “What do I need to do?” Angela finally asked.

“I just need a simple form filled out.” I explained that I preferred pet owners to complete it themselves to ensure accuracy. Handing her the clipboard, I offered her a pen, but she declined, reaching instead for her own. That wasn’t unusual. I understood the attachment to a specific pen—nothing is more frustrating than a pen that runs dry in the middle of an important form or one that only works on certain surfaces. Hers was a Sharpie pen. Must have had a lot of bad experiences with pens in her time, I thought as I watched her write, steady and deliberate, the weight of loss resting in each stroke of ink.

At that moment, I followed a simple rule I had learned over the years in this business—if a client starts a conversation, gladly oblige; if they remain silent, stand quietly, hands folded, and allow them their space. Experience has taught me that some people prefer silence in these moments. More than once, I have been told, “Can you not talk while I write this information down?”

I wasn’t always a talkative person. As a child, I was painfully shy, but in my early twenties, I found myself making up for lost time. Even so, I could tell Angela was the kind of person who preferred quiet concentration. She studied the form with the seriousness of someone who understood that details mattered. As an undertaker, I appreciated that—thoroughness in paperwork was something I valued deeply.

“Her color has changed over the years,” Angela murmured, still focused on the form.

I wasn’t sure I had heard her correctly. “I’m sorry, ma’am?”