May the fields be wide and long
I think I'm actually feeling worse today than yesterday cuz it just keeps going round and round in my head and suddenly it's real. I walked into the kitchen last night to start my before-bed ritual and I was startled that I didn't hear Chewy jump down from his box to run around his cage trying to get someone to go pet him. I kept thinking I could hear his cage rattle with his movement . . . even though the cage is no longer there.
And even as I write this, my throat closes and tears come to my eyes. Yesterday, I couldn't really cry. I was numb and above all - accepting. I'm still accepting, I'm just realizing what I've lost.
I was planning to go see his grave and I started walking toward the bathroom at around 4:30 and though, "In a half hour I'll take Chewy out to play." Then I stopped in my tracks, swallowed, and kept going.
My mom keeps asking if we can unbury him to make sure he's "ok." She can't stand the thought of worms and ants getting to him. She doesn't seem to be able to stop crying and she's constantly going on about how she feels it could have been prevented. I told her that we can't regret what we didn't know. If we had known before hand that this was happening, we would have gotten it fixed. But we didn't and it wasn't. And we CANNOT forget that. My only comfort in all of this is the realization that it could have been Friday when no one was home. I'm glad that he was in the arms of someone who loved him, ready to give him up to the One who gave him to us.
Since it was Tressa who bought him for me (Easter present), I called her yesterday after we buried him . . . after it was confirmed that he was - indeed - dead. She was on her way to New Orleans and promised she would stop by today. She kept saying she was sorry and asked after my mom. I wasn't expecting her to live up to her word but she did stop by and I brought her to his grave. Dad has it all pretty with a brick circle around it (the decorative kind - red brick and scalloped) and he planted a hibiscus plant on top of his grave. To assuage mom's fears, he even put ant poison around it.
After Tressa left, I went back to the grave and promptly broke down into tears and sobs. Hell, I'm still crying. I had to apologize for not recognizing something was wrong and that I hoped he wasn't in a lot of pain . . . and if he was, I prayed it was made a little less by having mom there to comfort him. I keep remembering when he was little and could fit in my palm. He was only a few weeks old. I thought he was a girl and - at first - named him Willow. We found out he was a boy - for sure - a few days later. After that, he was Chewy/Chewbacca.
Looking back on yesterday, new things come through. I don't think he vomited in the usual sense. It's supposedly physiologically impossibe for a rabbit to vomit from the throat. I think it came out of his nose based on how the bile and everything was smeared across his face. Also, when he started thrashing I think he broke his back, paralyzing himself - hence the stiff way he was laying down and why he wouldn't move after the episode. I try not think that I could have stopped it. I realize that I couldn't. I just wish he hadn't had to suffer.
So, I picture him in a large field of grass and wild flowers cut by a crystal stream filled with female bunnies (or maybe just one). I can't help but hope Gizmo (my aunt's dog who met his death rather violently and painfully himself) was there to meet him. They weren't playmates but they did study each other quite often.
May the fields be wide and long,
the spring eternal and the shade broad.
May the waters quench your thirst
and the flowers meet your pleasure.
One day, we'll meet again.
Rest in peace and freedom.
Chewbacca "Chewy" C.
March 1999 - August 6, 2005
- Sandy
And even as I write this, my throat closes and tears come to my eyes. Yesterday, I couldn't really cry. I was numb and above all - accepting. I'm still accepting, I'm just realizing what I've lost.
I was planning to go see his grave and I started walking toward the bathroom at around 4:30 and though, "In a half hour I'll take Chewy out to play." Then I stopped in my tracks, swallowed, and kept going.
My mom keeps asking if we can unbury him to make sure he's "ok." She can't stand the thought of worms and ants getting to him. She doesn't seem to be able to stop crying and she's constantly going on about how she feels it could have been prevented. I told her that we can't regret what we didn't know. If we had known before hand that this was happening, we would have gotten it fixed. But we didn't and it wasn't. And we CANNOT forget that. My only comfort in all of this is the realization that it could have been Friday when no one was home. I'm glad that he was in the arms of someone who loved him, ready to give him up to the One who gave him to us.
Since it was Tressa who bought him for me (Easter present), I called her yesterday after we buried him . . . after it was confirmed that he was - indeed - dead. She was on her way to New Orleans and promised she would stop by today. She kept saying she was sorry and asked after my mom. I wasn't expecting her to live up to her word but she did stop by and I brought her to his grave. Dad has it all pretty with a brick circle around it (the decorative kind - red brick and scalloped) and he planted a hibiscus plant on top of his grave. To assuage mom's fears, he even put ant poison around it.
After Tressa left, I went back to the grave and promptly broke down into tears and sobs. Hell, I'm still crying. I had to apologize for not recognizing something was wrong and that I hoped he wasn't in a lot of pain . . . and if he was, I prayed it was made a little less by having mom there to comfort him. I keep remembering when he was little and could fit in my palm. He was only a few weeks old. I thought he was a girl and - at first - named him Willow. We found out he was a boy - for sure - a few days later. After that, he was Chewy/Chewbacca.
Looking back on yesterday, new things come through. I don't think he vomited in the usual sense. It's supposedly physiologically impossibe for a rabbit to vomit from the throat. I think it came out of his nose based on how the bile and everything was smeared across his face. Also, when he started thrashing I think he broke his back, paralyzing himself - hence the stiff way he was laying down and why he wouldn't move after the episode. I try not think that I could have stopped it. I realize that I couldn't. I just wish he hadn't had to suffer.
So, I picture him in a large field of grass and wild flowers cut by a crystal stream filled with female bunnies (or maybe just one). I can't help but hope Gizmo (my aunt's dog who met his death rather violently and painfully himself) was there to meet him. They weren't playmates but they did study each other quite often.
May the fields be wide and long,
the spring eternal and the shade broad.
May the waters quench your thirst
and the flowers meet your pleasure.
One day, we'll meet again.
Rest in peace and freedom.
Chewbacca "Chewy" C.
March 1999 - August 6, 2005
- Sandy