In my conversations, a question keeps coming up that many people carry deep in their hearts for a long time. What is actually supposed to happen to my animal’s body once they cross over?
Some speak it out quite concretely, others cautiously approach the topic, and yet others only ask this question when the goodbye is already imminent. It is about a burial in one’s own garden, cremation, or keeping and scattering the ashes at places that held a special meaning. And so very often, it is about that deep uncertainty of doing the right thing.
What touches me again and again is that to most animals themselves, it is not important at all what happens to their physical shell. For them, the body is something they wore for this lifetime, a temporary home, but not who they are at their core. It is far more important to them that their human finds peace with the decision, that it feels aligned for you, and that no inner conflict remains.
However, there are also animals who express very specific wishes. A part of the ashes at the beach where vacations were spent every year, and another part in the local woods. Or the request to be buried in the garden of close friends when it is clear that their own human will soon move out of the rented apartment. Sometimes it is about a very specific spot under a rose bush or at a favorite place in their territory.
And then there are decisions that might seem unusual at first glance. One client had the idea of having her dog’s bones articulated so that the skeleton could later be used as teaching material in class, rather than using the bones of an anonymous dog. This animal was completely fine with that. More than that, he felt honored to remain by his human’s side and even make a contribution to the training of physiotherapists. For this soul, it was not a holding on, but a beautiful way of continuing to have an impact.
Such conversations show me time and again how little drama there is on the animals’ part. They are clear, calm, and very vast in their perspective. Even when it comes to their things like beds, blankets, bowls, or toys, they are usually very neutral. In their energetic form, they no longer need any of it. They are happy when other animals find joy in them or when a successor is allowed to use these things. At the same time, they understand that certain objects carry a huge emotional significance for their human, as a memory, as a connection, and as something tangible in a time when so much is missing.
What they do not want is for their human to get stuck in grief. Remembrance yes, love always, but no permanent holding on to the pain.
So when we ask ourselves what is right, it is less about a one-size-fits-all answer. It is about alignment, about your inner peace, and about the question of what feels expansive to you. What can you look at or know later on without it making you feel constricted inside?
The animals hold no claim to a specific form. They do not judge, they do not condemn, and they know that their essence is not bound to earth, ashes, or bones. And perhaps that is exactly where a gentle relief lies for us.
If you yourself are facing such a decision right now or are inwardly preparing for it, you may know that there is no objective right. There is only what feels aligned for both of you and rounds off your shared space in peace.
How do you feel about this topic? Have you already been able to find an aligned path for yourself and your animal, or is this question on your mind right now? Feel free to share your thoughts with me in the comments.
From heart to heart
Tanja
5 Replies to “What Remains After They Leave”
Comments are closed.