Guinea pig graves are, by default, shallow. My shovel easily pierces the soil of the back garden plot, and I start to dig. I have yet to share the news of Max’s passing with Riley. Still in bereavement for her bunny, who died a scant two weeks earlier, she might not take this news so easily.
In the morning, I arrive at my first day back from my
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"I pause. This is when my own collection of loss, both old and new, finds me. This moment of peace for a tiny brown guinea pig is weighted with a million pounds of long-carried sadness. I don’t cry, because that crying has been done. I think about how we carry joy in the same little box that holds our grief. All these deaths are a part of me. All the loss. All the gains, the perfection of tiny sparkling moments of light. All of it."
It's so true. Every loss reminds us of the others.
And the only way to heal is to embrace the loss as part of us.
I admire your ability to put your grief aside to help others. I'm sure that was very difficult.
I hope there are many "sparkling moments of light" as you wrote in the weeks ahead. Surely you are due many of them.
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This has been a bad week for me too. I have a family member facing a trauma due to his lifestyle, and we lost one loved cat, 'only a stray' but such a dear polite and sweet animal, and it was so harrowing for the last days. So am sort of in tandem with how you feel.
I hope you get time to accept and grieve, and then get on with the joy that is your new life and your partner. So sorry Jeff, ...
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