After They Leave – What Remains

In my sessions, a question keeps coming up that many people carry within them for a long time: What should happen to my animal’s body when the time comes?

Some speak about it very directly. Others approach the topic carefully. And some only ask the question when the farewell is already near. It’s about burial in your own garden, about cremation, about keeping or scattering the ashes. About places that held special meaning. About the uncertainty of doing “the right thing.”

What touches me again and again is this: for most animals, it truly isn’t important what happens to their physical remains. For them, the body is something they wore for this lifetime. A home for a while. But not who they are at their core.

What matters much more to them is that their person finds peace with the decision. That it feels aligned. That no inner conflict remains.

There are, however, animals who express very specific wishes. A part of the ashes at the beach where you spent your holidays every year. Another part in the familiar forest at home. Or the request to be buried in the garden of trusted friends, if it’s clear that their own person will soon have to leave the rented house. Sometimes it’s about a very particular spot in the garden, beneath a rose bush or at a favorite place within their territory.

And then there are decisions that may seem unusual at first. One client had the idea of having her dog’s bones prepared so that the skeleton could later be used in her teaching as anatomical material – instead of the bones of an unknown dog. This animal was completely at peace with that idea. More than that, it felt honored. Honored to remain at its person’s side and even continue contributing to the training of physiotherapists. For this being, it was not a form of holding on, but a way of continuing to serve.

Conversations like these show me again and again how little drama there is on the animals’ side. They are clear, calm, and very expansive in their perspective.

When it comes to their belongings – beds, blankets, bowls, toys – they are usually just as neutral. In their energetic form, they no longer need any of it. They are happy if other animals enjoy these things, or if a new companion gets to use them. At the same time, they understand that certain objects carry deep emotional meaning for their person. As memories. As connection. As something tangible in a time when so much feels absent.

What they do not want is for their person to remain stuck in grief. Remembering, yes. Loving, always. But not holding on to pain indefinitely.

So when we ask what is “right,” it is less about a universal answer. It is about alignment. About your inner peace. About asking yourself: What feels spacious to me? What can I look at or think about later without feeling tight inside?

Animals place no demand on a specific form. They do not judge. They do not condemn. They know that their essence is not bound to earth, ashes, or bones.

And perhaps there is a quiet relief in that.

If you are currently facing such a decision, or gently preparing yourself for it, you may trust this: there is no objectively “right” choice. There is only what feels aligned for both of you.

With all my heart,
Tanja