Goodbye
Milo died Tuesday evening.
Leon had gotten another vet appointment for Wednesday morning, so he sent an email to the students in the class he TAs, explaining that he might be late to section. One of the students replied with the subject line "LOL" and a message that said a sick guinea pig was the funniest excuse he'd ever heard.
On my 19th birthday, I recall my sister's boyfriend showing up with the puffy eyes of someone who has been crying. The reason was that his ferret had died. My memory of this event is that I didn't really "get" it--how someone could be so upset over the life of a ferret. I was strictly a dog person at that time and while I had bawled like a baby when my cocker spaniel died 18 months earlier, sadness over a ferret didn't quite register with me. It wasn't until I received Louis as a birthday present two years later that I finally "got" it.
Nevertheless, it is because of these incidents that I feel compelled to explain why I was in hysterics shortly after Leon and I noticed that the recently immobile Milo had migrated from one side of his cage to the other and Leon, placing a hand on Milo's back, shook his head to indicate that he wasn't breathing. It is because of these incidents that, were I slightly more self-conscious, I would have felt silly kneeling and crying beside Leon as he held Milo's lifeless body or screaming at Leon not to close the lid on the box where Leon placed Milo's body, because I wanted to believe that Milo's breathing was merely shallow and that he would wake at any moment. Obviously he did not.
I was up until 4 AM that night, just feeling…sad. I wanted there to be an understandable reason for my grief--one that even the rude student in Leon's class would comprehend. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub with my head in my hands, I alternately blamed the vet, Milo's bad genes, and myself. I told myself that I was not simply upset because something I loved had died. No, what bothered me was that the circumstances that led to his death were inexplicable.
I recognize that Milo was "only" a guinea pig and, as such, was an insignificant creature. Hell, most (all?) humans are insignificant so it shouldn't matter what he was. But, in seeing his insignificance--in knowing that the world would be the same if he lived or died and that he had no great purpose--I wonder why he had to suffer.
Of course, I don't know that he suffered. Guinea pigs probably don't have the cognitive ability to understand suffering; they probably aren't asking their guinea pig god about the meaning of life or why he has forsaken them at times of great need. The reason that Milo ultimately starved himself to death (a situation that, to me, justifies the term "suffering"), despite vitamin injections and saline injections and syringe feedings of mashed up food and Pedialyte, is because it hurt to eat. And in his little guinea pig brain, this might have been processed as simply as "eating=pain; not eating=no pain."
Because I do not believe in a god or a heaven to which all dogs (and presumably other pets) go, I cannot be happy that Milo is now "at peace." And because, in my mind, he was suffering to such a great extent that he starved himself, I cannot be happy that he lived a good, full life (Leon's brother Sam sent a very nice email that sort of captures this sentiment but it is not within my belief system). As Milo was an insignificant little guinea pig, it just seems…fair…that he could have had a fun, pain-free existence. And for some reason, he did not.
I don't have an answer for this. I may only be asking this because it is my way of grieving and of saying that it's not fair that Milo had to die. Because I can't get on board with religion or any circle of life bullshit, I just have to ask why.
Leon had gotten another vet appointment for Wednesday morning, so he sent an email to the students in the class he TAs, explaining that he might be late to section. One of the students replied with the subject line "LOL" and a message that said a sick guinea pig was the funniest excuse he'd ever heard.
On my 19th birthday, I recall my sister's boyfriend showing up with the puffy eyes of someone who has been crying. The reason was that his ferret had died. My memory of this event is that I didn't really "get" it--how someone could be so upset over the life of a ferret. I was strictly a dog person at that time and while I had bawled like a baby when my cocker spaniel died 18 months earlier, sadness over a ferret didn't quite register with me. It wasn't until I received Louis as a birthday present two years later that I finally "got" it.
Nevertheless, it is because of these incidents that I feel compelled to explain why I was in hysterics shortly after Leon and I noticed that the recently immobile Milo had migrated from one side of his cage to the other and Leon, placing a hand on Milo's back, shook his head to indicate that he wasn't breathing. It is because of these incidents that, were I slightly more self-conscious, I would have felt silly kneeling and crying beside Leon as he held Milo's lifeless body or screaming at Leon not to close the lid on the box where Leon placed Milo's body, because I wanted to believe that Milo's breathing was merely shallow and that he would wake at any moment. Obviously he did not.
I was up until 4 AM that night, just feeling…sad. I wanted there to be an understandable reason for my grief--one that even the rude student in Leon's class would comprehend. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub with my head in my hands, I alternately blamed the vet, Milo's bad genes, and myself. I told myself that I was not simply upset because something I loved had died. No, what bothered me was that the circumstances that led to his death were inexplicable.
I recognize that Milo was "only" a guinea pig and, as such, was an insignificant creature. Hell, most (all?) humans are insignificant so it shouldn't matter what he was. But, in seeing his insignificance--in knowing that the world would be the same if he lived or died and that he had no great purpose--I wonder why he had to suffer.
Of course, I don't know that he suffered. Guinea pigs probably don't have the cognitive ability to understand suffering; they probably aren't asking their guinea pig god about the meaning of life or why he has forsaken them at times of great need. The reason that Milo ultimately starved himself to death (a situation that, to me, justifies the term "suffering"), despite vitamin injections and saline injections and syringe feedings of mashed up food and Pedialyte, is because it hurt to eat. And in his little guinea pig brain, this might have been processed as simply as "eating=pain; not eating=no pain."
Because I do not believe in a god or a heaven to which all dogs (and presumably other pets) go, I cannot be happy that Milo is now "at peace." And because, in my mind, he was suffering to such a great extent that he starved himself, I cannot be happy that he lived a good, full life (Leon's brother Sam sent a very nice email that sort of captures this sentiment but it is not within my belief system). As Milo was an insignificant little guinea pig, it just seems…fair…that he could have had a fun, pain-free existence. And for some reason, he did not.
I don't have an answer for this. I may only be asking this because it is my way of grieving and of saying that it's not fair that Milo had to die. Because I can't get on board with religion or any circle of life bullshit, I just have to ask why.