Category: Death & Loss

crop field under rainbow and cloudy skies at dayime

The Rainbow Bridge: Finding Comfort After the Loss of a Beloved Pet

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A few months ago, I had to say goodbye to my sweet cat, Cowie. Losing her left an ache in my heart that I wasn’t prepared for. If you’ve ever lost a pet, you know that they’re not just animals—they’re family, companions, and sources of unconditional love. It’s one of the deepest kinds of loss, and in those moments, we look for any kind of comfort we can hold onto. For me, that comfort came through something I’d always heard of but never fully appreciated until now—the Rainbow Bridge.

What is the Rainbow Bridge?

The Rainbow Bridge is a concept that many of us turn to when we lose a beloved pet. It’s said to be a peaceful, beautiful place where our pets go after they pass. In this place, they are free—free from pain, free from sickness, and free to run and play in vast, green meadows under a gentle, glowing rainbow. But perhaps the most comforting part of the Rainbow Bridge is the belief that our pets wait for us there. They watch over us, filled with love, until the day comes when we are reunited and can cross that bridge together.

Pet loss memorial board

When Cowie passed, I was devastated. The loft suddenly felt emptier, quieter. My heart wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Recently, Shawn made me a beautiful memorial board to honor her, and it carries the words, “Your wings were ready, but our hearts were not.” Those words couldn’t be more true. As I held that board, I found myself thinking more about the Rainbow Bridge. It’s not just an idea—it’s a reminder that even though Cowie isn’t physically here, her love remains. And in that place beyond the rainbow, she’s waiting for me, healthy and happy once again.

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To Let Go.

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Despair.

Asphyxiated by the device
meant to grant you life
you pleaded to be released.

Lines running
through your veins
fighting to give you strength-
they only imprisoned you.

You-
always present
aware of the
commotion about you.
Bustling nurses
weeping children
through it all
your eyes were
locked onto mine.

“Help me let go” was your plea.

You grabbed my hand
shook your head
as if you knew this act
had been playing
long enough.
As if someone had
interrupted your journey
toward the place
you were meant to go.

So we released you.
Withdrew your tube
diminished your drips.

Severed the chains that bound you.

We comforted you.
You turned
toward your children.
Through a surge of strength
you assured them
it would be okay-
that through your going on
they would go on.

Then you turned back to me.

Though undeserving
of your last moments
you entrusted them to me.
You held my hand
held my gaze.

“Thank you,” was what you said.

And then you took your last breath.

And let us go.

 •       •       •

This patient has been in my heart lately. This post is a re-sharing of an account of our last encounter. A gentle reminder to treasure each moment given. 

 •       •       •

The Background Story

Continue reading “To Let Go.”

A Memory of Ground Beef.

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Once when I was on a specialized heart failure service, I took care of a teenage boy. He had a form of idiopathic dilated cardiomyopathy (a weak, enlarged heart), and he had a huge heart…in more ways than one.

He loved baseball, pumpkin pie, and horses. His family owned a farm, so before he got sick, he would often go horseback riding. He also loved to draw.

We—a team of five physicians—took care of him for a month while he was waiting for a heart transplant. He liked us. We liked him. So he drew us as well.

I thought he was clever. But he thought I was even more so. All because he liked my joke:

“What do you call a cow with no legs?”

“Ground beef.”

That was it. He was just a great kid, trying his best to live the life given to him.

It used to be, that at the end of our visits, we would both say to each other, “Ground beef!” with a wink and a huge smile. It perplexed the other physicians, but we knew exactly what we were talking about.

It was just a silly joke. But for the two of us, it somehow meant something more. 

I found out recently that he passed away. And today I found the drawing he gave me. And I wept.

So here’s to you, dear buddy…

Ground beef 😉

♥