Little Deaths are Big Too

No passing is too small...

Pip has been with us for six years, alive for seven. She was the first pet that was my daughters alone. Pip was her first baby, her first chance to play at being a Mother, which she loved.

You’ve probably figured out why I’m saying “was” and not “is”.

I thought Pip would pass in the night. She’d buried herself in hay in the corner of her cage, shivering just a little. When I went to feed her in the darkness of 5am she was cold and heavy, gone. I thanked her for holding on for so long, and giving us such a graceful passing.

Truly knew it was coming too. At eleven she’s lost her Mother, our dog Bella, several Hamsters, an array of fish and now two Guinea Pigs. She held her Guinea Pig Nick as he died. She knew Pip was close.

Pip is a hard loss because she, among all of our pets, echos Momma for Truly.

We rarely know what will crack us open until it upon us. It can be a song, a movie, a memory. Those deep feelings of grief can hide within us for decades, only surfacing when touched by something.

Her tears came fast and hard. She wanted to hold Pip, she stroked her hair and told her how cute she was. True doesn’t just cry, she wails. She fell into a puddle of tears and stayed there. Sometimes she wanted to be held, sometimes she shook her head, “I’m good.” So young and she already knows boundaries and self care in the face of grief.

Experience teaches if we let it.

We bought flowers, True picked out a small boquet of pink and white roses. I moved aside the Sister Stone, a natural engraved stone I had made as a duplicate of the one at Terry’s burial site. I dug deep. Bella’s ashes, several fish and Nick had been absorbed by the Earth already. I wrote about their group funeral, "Dog, Fish, Guinea Pig Funeral” , last March.

Truly let the other Guinea Pigs, Marshmallow and Ghost smell Pip so they would know she’d passed. We placed her body in the dirt, petting her and covering her with roses. We talked about how much we loved her and how we valued her, how much joy she brought us every day. Soil and stone covered her up. More flowers, more tears.

Our dog Bella was my Pip. I’d waited years to live on enough land to have a large dog. I love the heft of an animal that can push back, one who feels heavy against you when you lay on the carpet in the afternoon sun, smelling fur, sleeping as a packmate. Bella helped me survive the loss of Terry in so many ways.

From my post “Healers • Teachers • Saints”:
”There have been many times since Terry died that I have laid down on the carpet with her, wrapped my arms around her scruff, just to feel a grown up sized being who I loved laying next to me. Burying my face in her fur I pull her weight into me and breath deep. Nothing calms me like her musk-dusty smell and the weight of her chest against me. I know when I snuggle with her my nervous system will reset after just a few breaths.”

When Bella died of old age back in ‘22 it signaled the end of a chapter in our family. She helped us bring two kids into childhood, was with us when Terry passed and we moved into our new home. Animals guide us through our lives, matching our pace, responding to our needs.

Can we ever love them enough?

Truly will be in a tender space for the next few days. The quest to get Dad to buy her another Guinea Pig has already begun. I’ll resist, who knows for how long. I’m a total pushover.

Sometimes there is so much love in our house it I curl up in bed and whisper “thank you, thank you, thank you” in the dark.

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From 31 Poems About Grief, #3 Animal Grief