A recent New York Times piece about a mother dolphin observed carrying her deceased pup in her mouth, and accompanied by fellow dolphins, poses the question: Do animals experience grief?
I, for one, believe they do. At least when we’re talking about the most complex higher mammals, including, in addition to these dolphins, killer whales, whales and great apes, which have been observed to engage in similar behaviors. These are highly intelligent, organized and social creatures, much like people. People grieve their dead. Why shouldn’t certain animals?
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Indeed, research on late-stage cancer patients indicates that when people around these patients work to accept the loss of their loved one, they adjust better to bereavement after the death. See Hasdenteufel, M., & Quintard, B. (2022), “Psychosocial factors affecting the bereavement experience of relatives of palliative-stage cancer patients: A systematic review,” BMC Palliative Care, 21, 212 (found at https://doi.org/10.1186/s12904-022-01096-y (reviewed August 2026)).
However, it’s a complex calculus. For example, a loved one’s acceptance or rejection of a terminal cancer helped to inform how their survivors would adjust to bereavement.
The interaction between a loved one and those around her portends their adjustment to grief. Not surprisingly, harsh words, communication problems, and unresolved affairs can engender poor grief adjustment.
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Lee came home to die after her doctor conceded that she had mere weeks left to live. (A medical prediction that proved to be wildly optimistic.) Always one to think of others, Lee gathered our friends and family to our home. She spoke to each person or couple privately. I wasn’t privy to any of these conversations, and I won’t speculate what Lee might have said.
This happened on a Friday. Early on, Lee had told me that she expected to die on this day. Fortunately, by noon, after she had made her peace with everyone, Lee surprisingly announced she was hungry and no longer believed that today was destined to be her last.
I happily and quickly prepared some lunch for her, but she could not eat much. It was to be Lee’s last meal. She passed early Monday evening.
I have always felt a bit cheated that she didn’t have any private words for me. But really, what was left to say? Goodbye. Thank you. I love you. It wasn’t necessary for Lee to tell me how she felt because I already knew, any more than it was necessary for me to say these things to her. As her last living act, Lee had opened her eyes to meet my gaze, one quiet moment between us, containing everything.
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I understand why a psychiatrist or psychologist might posit that Lee’s courageous acceptance of her own death helped mute my postmortem grief, although this is not how I recall that sad time.
