This week many of my Facebook friends have lost family members--furry, feathered, scaley family members, that is.
I see them grieving; I grieve. Indeed, I feel their pain. Because I have been through it often enough: holding and staring at the dead body of what once had been my warm, loving friend.
It's tough, I know. Still, I never know what to say to make that person feel better: as though her world will still move on, as though the pain will stop soon, as though there's a reason to live. Sometimes there's not anything to do but bear the misery until time dulls it. The best I can say is, "I''m so sorry." Lame, I know; but it's the best and most honest I can do--because there really is nothing I can say that will make the pain go away.
So, this week Sadie, the pot-bellied pig, died and left her owners empty, wandering their home in search of Sadie's presence: the surreality of death lingers as they expect their beloved pet to nudge against their legs as she habitually did at each feeding. They hear her trotting around every corner, her little hard hooves clicking happily along the hardwood flooring. Sadie's presence is everywhere, but she's not there.
Yes, I know that haunting sensation well--dread it, really. I have had upwards of 14 pot-bellies, 7 horses, 20-something cats that I have mothered and accompanied into death through the years. And I have had to endure that pain with clenched jaw, blinding tears, and overwhelming resentment toward a possible god.
I am so sorry Sadie had to die so young and so unnecessarily. Life continues to be cruel. And I really have no thoughts at this time to ease her human family's hurt.
I have no words.