I’m not great at the grief thing. I’m not sure anyone is out there saying they are great at it, but I’d say I definitely feel sensitive to it and avoidant of it.
My family just lost a pet bird. He was the best little bird. He was a blue, gray, and white little budgerigar and his name was Buddy, formally Lola Butt Potato – named by my little one Lily when they had been about 7 years old. :)
Buddy had been a pandemic purchase. He had been shy at first and took a couple of months to warm up to us. When he did he had so much personality he took us by surprise. We gave him open range most of the time to fly around the home but he usually stuck to the places that were familiar to him. He’d fly on top of my head to come say hello or to let me know he was in need of more food or fresh water. He’d land on others’ heads as well to play. On days he was feeling feisty he would waddle around on the table or even the floor in an effort to egg our dog, Ollie, on.
On a particularly feisty day Buddy had even jumped onto Ollie’s back. Ollie was always very good with Buddy, but he is a dog, so we kept a close eye on them when Buddy felt the need to provoke his friend. There were moments of snaps from Ollie that felt too close for comfort. We think when Buddy realized he could fly away he got cocky and decided he could taunt his gravitationally challenged housemate.
Buddy began talking around age one. It had taken us by surprise because we hadn’t realized Budgerigar’s could talk. Though, Lily may have known. They did so much research when they had decided they really wanted a bird that they knew just what toys were toxic to them at the pet store, what food to get, and what snacks to stay away from. I had been the one to visit Buddy’s cage on a near daily basis and was keen on saying, “Hey baby” to him. After maybe months of this he started saying “Hey baby” back to me. I hadn’t been sure at first but then it was unmistakable. I couldn’t believe it! Buddy was also known to copy Ollie’s bark, particularly when Ollie got to barking at something outside. And, we he would smooch back to me the same number of times I would smooch at him.
For a couple of weeks prior to his passing he had grown somewhat quiet and began sleeping more than usual. Lily, the highly observant, told me, “I think there’s something wrong mom. We need to take him to the vet.” We’d had an established vet but that one avian vet in the area had moved away and we had just learned of another we could get established with. I kept telling Lily, “I think you’re right. I’ll call.” A busy week passed us and I’d let it slip my mind. Two nights before he passed it was a Friday night and I told Lily that first thing Monday morning I would call and get Buddy in to get checked out.
Lily had been the one to find Buddy at the bottom of his cage that Sunday morning. They came up to my room with their hand over their mouth and tears in their eyes. They said, “Buddy.” And, I knew. But, I hoped it wasn’t true. I couldn’t bear to see his lifeless body and Lily and I sobbed. The depth of my grief for myself and my little one had surprised me. I’d lost so many pets throughout my life and yet I felt newly unprepared. I had been so attached to this little creature and felt an enormous amount of guilt for not having acted sooner. I kept thinking, “If only I had listened to Lily and gotten him into the vet sooner he would still be alive.” I burst into tears several times throughout that first week and am crying again as I write this.
Since his passing, Lily has done remarkably by processing their feelings of grief aloud with us. But, they have now transferred the distrust and anxiety over grief to Ollie and other pets. They express worries over the wellbeing of Ollie, saying, “I think he’s breathing weird. We should take him to the vet.” I know this is a part of their grief processing and am trying to hold space for it, validate it, and also help them challenge their anxiety.
I’ve lost many people in my life in a variety of ways, am a trained therapist and work with others through grief, and yet grief remains an enigma to me. I think in part because of the way our society handles it. We don’t generally know how to speak about it and fumble over our words with each other. I know I’ve always hidden my grief away, stepped into isolation to cry or said the wrong thing to others. Loss is a part of the human condition but as humans we do a poor job of holding space for one another’s emotions. I’m hoping to do better at this and open the door to authentic emotional expression.
Growing with you,
Meg