A snowy Marcy Field. (Provided photo — Diane Chase)

Years ago, our elderly dog decided to die in front of us.

It wasn’t a simple passing. Our golden retriever didn’t “disappear” and resurrect herself as a puppy a few weeks later. She had a stroke after exiting a ferry when we were visiting my mother-in-law. Our Ella chose to die in a crowd over a holiday weekend. Our golden girl decided she had had enough of this life and passed onto the next while my son pulled on her lead, telling her to get up and out of everyone’s way. She never moved again. My children didn’t understand what was happening. We huddled on the ground while people walked past, shielding their children’s eyes. Our dog’s death was my children’s first experience of a personal loss.

We are not hunters or farmers, though our friends and neighbors are both. My family doesn’t raise animals for food. Our food comes neatly wrapped and chosen from a market. Death is something in the future. Though we could use euphemisms to explain away dying, like the changing of seasons or “it was time,” my children overheard that my husband and I need to dispose of our dog’s body.

This story has many other details, but the bottom line is we buried our golden retriever in my mother-in-law’s yard. My son cried because his last words to his dog were for her to “get up.” My daughter worried Ella would be cold, so we wrapped her in a blanket along with her favorite toys. After covering her with sand and dirt, we went to the beach and threw flowers into the water. We used the gathered shells, sticks and stones to spell our dog’s name over her grave.

Though it was horrible then, I appreciate how Ella left us. For most of society, death isn’t part of their daily lives. They are also not hunters or farmers. For the most part, society has distanced itself from funeral rituals. We rejoice in the beginnings and celebrate the milestones, but the ending is not given its due. I often thank Ella for the lessons. Her death and the conversations surrounding it helped prepare my children for a string of family and friends’ deaths. My kids learned you can’t take back your last words. They eventually were able to comfort and help other individuals suffering the end of a loved one’s life.

Barring no devastating circumstances, Physiology Today recommends parents start discussing death with children as early as the age of 3. Noticing and pointing out everyday examples of death that children encounter, like dead birds and bugs, can help ease some fear. Using simple terms can also help with any confusion so when tragedy strikes, kids are familiar with the concept. Parents can focus on comforting and validating everyone’s emotions while honoring any rituals.

Obviously, I am oversimplifying death, grief and our connections to it. We all need to do what is healthiest for our families. At the very least, I hope anyone experiencing grief can eventually find peace.