I've been really bummed out about something lately and I haven't had anybody to talk to. I'll just upset my family if I mention it to them, and I'm trying to establish myself in college so I don't want be be known as a crybaby or something to my new friends just yet.
Most of this is essentially a sob-story: I'm sitting in the dark in my common room at 1 am crying silently typing this. But I have to get it out there, because writing has allowed me to have closure on a lot of different aspects of life. I know it's not "manly" for a college aged guy to be crying about guinea pigs, but they touched me in a way I wouldn't have thought they would.
It started a year and a half ago, when my family got our first pet- a guinea pig. My youngest brother named her Rosie and she was adorable. Hearing that they were social animals, my parents got me a guinea pig of my own. She was a beautiful blonde color and she was so shy. I named her Luna, after the Harry Potter character. I was slightly allergic to them, so I couldn't hold them much, but every morning I fed them and every night I gave them water and food. I loved letting them run around the house, where they'd chase each other or just waddle and squeak. I would feed them grapes and they would nibble them up in seconds. Luna even learned how to stand on her hind legs just so that she could get the grapes first. They were adorable and I really loved having them. We would take them on vacations with us and hide them in the bathrooms, giving them hay, water, and blankets to play with.
Then my family found out that 4/5 of us were allergic to the hay that we fed them, with the youngest brother (the one who played with them the most and they were practically his) being highly allergic. We couldn't bear to give them up, so our other brother promised to feed them daily and clean them by himself (he was the only one not allergic).
Then I went to college. I came during the summer to get a head start, and I would call home daily. Often, I'd ask "How's my Luna?" or "Are the pigs alright?" Finally, after a month and a half, my family visited me, and I saw them in the hotel that night. I petted Luna and she scurried away. I went to pet Rosie, but I figured that Rosie never obeyed me anyway, so I left for dinner.
The next day was a hurricane. I began my freshman orientation and was busy setting up my room. After about an hour after my family arrived at campus to help, I remember asking about the pigs. They said that they were in the car. I told them to check to make sure the windows were open and that they had water, and even suggested bringing them to my room. My parents told me that they were fine. So after about 3 hours I went to my first orientation event. I had a week-long canoe trip planned, with no connection to society after that night. I went to the meeting. About ten minutes before it ended, I got a text from my youngest brother.
It said two words. "ROISE! LUNA!"
I spent the rest of the meeting upset and stressed out. I texted back asking if everything was alright, but my dad replied, ignorant to my brother's earlier text. The moment I left the meeting, I called my dad, breaking away from my group. I demanded to know about the pigs. He told me that they had stopped breathing. They had both died. I made it to my dorm before the waterworks started. I was hysterically upset, and extremely lucky my roommate didn't arrive till the next week. I called my aunt who I haven't spoken to in a month to vent and tell her the story, but I could only speak for fifteen minutes before another event. She tried to console me, but I met my hallmates fifteen minutes later red eyed (which I attributed to contact problems).
After about two hours of orientation, my family made their last stop at my dorm before they left town. My parents took me into my dorm room alone and closed the door. My mom asked for forgiveness and gave me a hug. The tears started up again. My dad came and hugged me too. He tried to hide it, but I saw he was crying. I've only ever seen my dad cry once before in my life, and that was when he was reliving the death of his mother when he was fourteen. I told them I forgave them, and that I was upset about the pig's death. I wanted them to die of old age and peacefully. They weren't even two years old yet and were expected to live 4-5 years. My little brother obsessed over them, and I didn't want him hurting like I did. My mom reassured me that they probably died peacefully, and at least they were together. This was so true- they never wanted to be apart from each other... My mom then confided in me that my dad had begun having bronco-spasms when he would get near the pigs. Dad told me that maybe they were taken away for a reason, but I don't want to think...
My parents said that they had bought a small bush and had buried the guinea pigs on my campus, near one of the lake houses, and placed the bush above them. Then my family had to leave and I had to go on a week-long trip with no touch with the outside world. On the trip I thought of the pigs often, and thoughts of them originally gave me bad dreams. (Fortunately?) Our trip was plagued with bad weather, and eventually I became afraid for my own life (we were caught in a hurricane-produced lightning storm with only a tent as protection) and thought less about them. The moment I got back to my dorm, I went to unlock by password chest that held my wallet and phone. I stopped to think about the password. M-O-R-S, the Latin word for death. In a blind panic, I seized the lock and immediately changed the password.
Sometimes I think I saw it coming. I've always been the "worrier" of my family. I repeatedly asked if they were alright in the car, and even expressed my concerns about them overheating. And why would I have changed the password to mors that very morning? I figured "Oh look, a Latin word! I love Latin!" But of all words, why that one?
That was two weeks ago.
Recently I began thinking about how fragile they were, and how precious they had been in the only year and a half we had had them. I was watching America's Funniest Home videos today, and a dog was running in circles crazily. I began thinking, 'Luna does that too!' Then I remembered that I needed to use past tense. I teared up a little and began walking to meet dinner with my friends. At dinner, my friends began talking about how to forcibly cut a person's nails (I know, we're weird), and then my thoughts drifted back to my guinea pigs and how they never let us cut their nails. They would shake and squirm and we'd need to bribe them with fruit to stay still. I got all teary eyed and had to "go to the bathroom" and clean my face.
I realize that I have yet to visit their grave-site. I'm going to take my bike down to the lake house tomorrow after class ends. It's a good 15 minute ride, but it's worth it. I want closure, and I'm sure that will help.
I've begun realizing that I'm not done healing yet. I still have to go home and see their cage not there, and I don't know if our sign "Pigas Tirith" is still hanging above where it was. I'm sure I'll be upset in the future, but it's just another challenge to tackle in life. My only ray of light now is that at least it wasn't my dad that something serious happened to.
So anyone who bothered to read any part of that, thank you. I apologize for this being extremely long- once I started typing, it all began flowing out. I feel like this too will help me find some sort of closure in their deaths.
And for pet owners, or maybe just people in general, hold those you have with you now close to you. You never know when they'll be taken away from you, so cherish every moment you have with them now. Just like I feel really guilty for not petting Rosie that last night, don't miss out on being with something or someone you love.
I've been really bummed out about something lately and I haven't had anybody to talk to. I'll just upset my family if I mention it to them, and I'm trying to establish myself in college so I don't want be be known as a crybaby or something to my new friends just yet.
Most of this is essentially a sob-story: I'm sitting in the dark in my common room at 1 am crying silently typing this. But I have to get it out there, because writing has allowed me to have closure on a lot of different aspects of life. I know it's not "manly" for a college aged guy to be crying about guinea pigs, but they touched me in a way I wouldn't have thought they would.
It started a year and a half ago, when my family got our first pet- a guinea pig. My youngest brother named her Rosie and she was adorable. Hearing that they were social animals, my parents got me a guinea pig of my own. She was a beautiful blonde color and she was so shy. I named her Luna, after the Harry Potter character. I was slightly allergic to them, so I couldn't hold them much, but every morning I fed them and every night I gave them water and food. I loved letting them run around the house, where they'd chase each other or just waddle and squeak. I would feed them grapes and they would nibble them up in seconds. Luna even learned how to stand on her hind legs just so that she could get the grapes first. They were adorable and I really loved having them. We would take them on vacations with us and hide them in the bathrooms, giving them hay, water, and blankets to play with.
Then my family found out that 4/5 of us were allergic to the hay that we fed them, with the youngest brother (the one who played with them the most and they were practically his) being highly allergic. We couldn't bear to give them up, so our other brother promised to feed them daily and clean them by himself (he was the only one not allergic).
Then I went to college. I came during the summer to get a head start, and I would call home daily. Often, I'd ask "How's my Luna?" or "Are the pigs alright?" Finally, after a month and a half, my family visited me, and I saw them in the hotel that night. I petted Luna and she scurried away. I went to pet Rosie, but I figured that Rosie never obeyed me anyway, so I left for dinner.
The next day was a hurricane. I began my freshman orientation and was busy setting up my room. After about an hour after my family arrived at campus to help, I remember asking about the pigs. They said that they were in the car. I told them to check to make sure the windows were open and that they had water, and even suggested bringing them to my room. My parents told me that they were fine. So after about 3 hours I went to my first orientation event. I had a week-long canoe trip planned, with no connection to society after that night. I went to the meeting. About ten minutes before it ended, I got a text from my youngest brother.
It said two words. "ROISE! LUNA!"
I spent the rest of the meeting upset and stressed out. I texted back asking if everything was alright, but my dad replied, ignorant to my brother's earlier text. The moment I left the meeting, I called my dad, breaking away from my group. I demanded to know about the pigs. He told me that they had stopped breathing. They had both died. I made it to my dorm before the waterworks started. I was hysterically upset, and extremely lucky my roommate didn't arrive till the next week. I called my aunt who I haven't spoken to in a month to vent and tell her the story, but I could only speak for fifteen minutes before another event. She tried to console me, but I met my hallmates fifteen minutes later red eyed (which I attributed to contact problems).
After about two hours of orientation, my family made their last stop at my dorm before they left town. My parents took me into my dorm room alone and closed the door. My mom asked for forgiveness and gave me a hug. The tears started up again. My dad came and hugged me too. He tried to hide it, but I saw he was crying. I've only ever seen my dad cry once before in my life, and that was when he was reliving the death of his mother when he was fourteen. I told them I forgave them, and that I was upset about the pig's death. I wanted them to die of old age and peacefully. They weren't even two years old yet and were expected to live 4-5 years. My little brother obsessed over them, and I didn't want him hurting like I did. My mom reassured me that they probably died peacefully, and at least they were together. This was so true- they never wanted to be apart from each other... My mom then confided in me that my dad had begun having bronco-spasms when he would get near the pigs. Dad told me that maybe they were taken away for a reason, but I don't want to think...
My parents said that they had bought a small bush and had buried the guinea pigs on my campus, near one of the lake houses, and placed the bush above them. Then my family had to leave and I had to go on a week-long trip with no touch with the outside world. On the trip I thought of the pigs often, and thoughts of them originally gave me bad dreams. (Fortunately?) Our trip was plagued with bad weather, and eventually I became afraid for my own life (we were caught in a hurricane-produced lightning storm with only a tent as protection) and thought less about them. The moment I got back to my dorm, I went to unlock by password chest that held my wallet and phone. I stopped to think about the password. M-O-R-S, the Latin word for death. In a blind panic, I seized the lock and immediately changed the password.
Sometimes I think I saw it coming. I've always been the "worrier" of my family. I repeatedly asked if they were alright in the car, and even expressed my concerns about them overheating. And why would I have changed the password to mors that very morning? I figured "Oh look, a Latin word! I love Latin!" But of all words, why that one?
That was two weeks ago.
Recently I began thinking about how fragile they were, and how precious they had been in the only year and a half we had had them. I was watching America's Funniest Home videos today, and a dog was running in circles crazily. I began thinking, 'Luna does that too!' Then I remembered that I needed to use past tense. I teared up a little and began walking to meet dinner with my friends. At dinner, my friends began talking about how to forcibly cut a person's nails (I know, we're weird), and then my thoughts drifted back to my guinea pigs and how they never let us cut their nails. They would shake and squirm and we'd need to bribe them with fruit to stay still. I got all teary eyed and had to "go to the bathroom" and clean my face.
I realize that I have yet to visit their grave-site. I'm going to take my bike down to the lake house tomorrow after class ends. It's a good 15 minute ride, but it's worth it. I want closure, and I'm sure that will help.
I've begun realizing that I'm not done healing yet. I still have to go home and see their cage not there, and I don't know if our sign "Pigas Tirith" is still hanging above where it was. I'm sure I'll be upset in the future, but it's just another challenge to tackle in life. My only ray of light now is that at least it wasn't my dad that something serious happened to.
So anyone who bothered to read any part of that, thank you. I apologize for this being extremely long- once I started typing, it all began flowing out. I feel like this too will help me find some sort of closure in their deaths.
And for pet owners, or maybe just people in general, hold those you have with you now close to you. You never know when they'll be taken away from you, so cherish every moment you have with them now. Just like I feel really guilty for not petting Rosie that last night, don't miss out on being with something or someone you love.
Goodbye, Rosie and Luna.