2010 hasn’t been easy on me in terms of my pets. In April, I lost my beloved Boo Radley (beloved is an understatement, believe me) to a failing heart. And Friday night, we lost our cat, Tsunami Man. What makes his death heartbreakingly tragic is that he was killed by our dog, Bailey.
It all started with a tree that fell in our back yard, that broke open our fence and cluttered our back porch. We can’t leave the dogs out like we normally do, we have to ‘walk’ them. And when Anthony was out ‘walking’ the dogs, Tsunami Man bumbled onto the back porch.
Because of the tree, Tsunami Man was trapped, but at least Bailey was mercifully lethal. Anthony said it was over quick, within seconds.
I’ve found myself uncharacteristically darkened by this. Even more so because my dog took the life of our own in a violent, freak occurrence. I can’t really blame Bailey, who came to me with a natural aversion to the feline members of our pack. There is no one to blame.
It got me thinking yesterday about the purpose of animals in our lives. We love animals like they are our own, but, really, in a different way. Sure, I always loved Boo like my child, but really, I didn’t. I mourned him, I miss him, but it’s not the same as if I lost Oliver. Obviously not.
So maybe animals are here to prepare us for love and loss. Maybe not prepare us (because, really, can anything prepare us for the death of a loved one?), but acquaint us. We learn to love and we learn to lose our pets, who win our love and trust mush easier than humans, die much sooner than we do and who we as a people love with an intensity some cultures can’t comprehend.
I’ve never lost a loved one and I often think what I would do, or who I would become if I were to lose my husband, my parents, my best friend, my Mema. I’m uncomfortable with being unhappy, so much so that I tend to ‘forget’ the bad things so I can move on with my life.
When I lost Boo Radley, I was so uncomfortable in my own skin, the memory of his glazed, open eyes staring back at me, gone but not forgotten. Losing Boo Radley was my first taste of death. I’m 25 years old and fortunate because of it. I am unmarred from loss, my life yet divided between the before and the after. I am the person I will never be again once death has touched my life.
I miss you, Boo. And Tsunami, I’m sorry. You were the best of friends in life, and I take comfort in knowing you are together. If animals are here to teach us about life, I can only assume you’ll be waiting for us, to lead us on to the next part of our journey.
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