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There were never any "good old days" — they are today, they are tomorrow
Little bird, big hole 
8th-Dec-2009 05:49 pm
I've been fighting off a cold for the past several days, but did go out for a couple of hours yesterday for Bucky's funeral. We did it Viking-style, with her wrapped in a shroud inside a cardboard-box coffin full of shaved pine and sweet spices with some of her favorite things, in a fast, hot fire in one of the grills at our favorite park by the estuary. Pirate put up a few photos and wrote about it here.

She was such a small beast — less than 8 ounces when we weighed her while preparing her coffin — so how is there such a big hole in my life right now? When Cosmo died, when Nemo died, I was expecting to be knocked over by grief. But this...

Pirate took care of clearing out her stuff, which I'm grateful for. He put her cage down on the sidewalk, and it was gone by the next day. I'm glad — it was a nice, expensive cage, and I hope one of my neighbors picked it up and now has a bird living in luxury.

We're leaving that space open and empty for now, except for the evergreen wreath we've put up on the wall in the middle. I think having it empty is good; it keeps my eye from catching sight of something out of the corner of my eye and momentarily interpreting it as the bird.

It's always the little things that hit hardest. When my mother was alive, we talked on the phone every day, usually for just a minute or two. Nothing big, just "hey, how are you, I love you." After she died, the worst part of the day was when I'd walk in the door, my eye would fall on the phone, and I'd think, "Oh, I should call... oh, no, I shouldn't." Yesterday Pirate had cut a wedge of apple to put in Bucky's coffin with her, and when I saw the other pieces on the cutting board I thought, "Oh, I should give that apple chunk to... oh."

I'm tired. I'm cold. My chest hurts and I keep coughing. I'm going to go pull something together for dinner, then tuck up on the sofa again with a wool blanket, the cats (hopefully), a cup of tea, and my book. Then early to bed.
9th-Dec-2009 12:26 pm (UTC)
Oh, so sorry for your loss of your beloved pet. So small and sadly missed.
9th-Dec-2009 02:29 pm (UTC)
thinking of you, lady. much love.
9th-Dec-2009 05:28 pm (UTC)
If memory serves, when Nemo and Cosmo died, you had some time to mentally prepare for it.... bracing for impact, if you will. When you know a loved one is sick, you can also do whatever is necessary to make their passing as comfortable as possible.

But to come home to find your sweet bird gone; that's 1000 times worse. It's like a sucker-punch to the soul, and there's no way to prepare for it. And there's no way to get over it quickly. We blame ourselves for what we could have done differently, we are heartbroken that we weren't there to prevent it somehow (or at least make it easier). Our brain is full of a zillion "what-ifs" and "should'ves" and "if onlys" which will only torture you.

I'm bet Cheri Huber has something to say about this type of suffering.

Love you guys.
9th-Dec-2009 07:35 pm (UTC)
I will keep you all in my thoughts. Dear Lexica!
10th-Dec-2009 01:09 am (UTC)
Always hugs and love.
10th-Dec-2009 07:46 am (UTC) - I am sorry about Cosmo
Something else will fill up the hole and will already be decorated with the awesome that Cosmo gave you.
12th-Dec-2009 07:22 am (UTC)
Oh, Sweet You!

"less than 8 ounces when we weighed her while preparing her coffin — so how is there such a big hole in my life right now"

On account of because you didn't weigh her heart and soul is why. Wishing you comfort in the absence of joy and sending you love.

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