I’ve been reading Year of Wonders, a fictional book about an English village that isolated themselves in the 1600s during a severe plague outbreak. The story shows most of the village succumbing to the plague, dropping off one by one, or in droves. The priest in the story convinced the townspeople to stay where they were to avoid spreading plague seeds to the surrounding villages. And it worked.
Now if only I had a similar buffer in my life to prevent death after death of ripping in to my heart. It’s hard to see the good right now.
I have another bunny with dental problems – I always assumed he’d be the first of my pets to go, which is why losing Sweetie is so harsh – she was the healthy, resilient one. But she had cancer, and there was no way of knowing that until the vet first examined her, which is what led to bringing her in for a hysterectomy. It was supposed to make her better and let her live a lot longer. I’m so mad, sad, and heartbroken over losing Sweetie. It is a harsh loss, and all in the wake of losing Henry. I would have been a few weeks shy from 30 weeks pregnant with him at this point.
So Wilbur, my toothless dwarf, will meet the same end as Sweetie, and we’ll have a teary, heartbroken goodbye with him. Same with our cat, same with my step-son’s gerbil. Same with many of the people I know and love.
I’m feeling very raw. I feel like I wiped out on my bike and have been recovering from knees scraped to the bone after losing Henry, but scabs were starting to slowly form. Losing Sweetie is like falling hard on my already sore knees and splitting a coupe of healed scabs open so the blood can come through anew.
The only way to buffer myself against further loss is to cut off all ties with my friends and family, and live alone in a cave and provide for myself by scraping meals of algae from its damp walls. Or be hit by a bus. I think this stage of grief is all of them, especially shock and depression.
And these losses – Henry, Sweetie – all came about because of decisions I made for them. Even though a more painful death was inevitably in their future.
Something good is bound to happen in my life, isn’t it? But why should it? The universe is vast and incomprehensible. Why does my tiny life, barely significant, need to be joyful? I don’t feel like it matters right now.