Mira came home a day or so ago. It was just a plain cardboard box with a little fine, white ash. The best parts of Mira—the caring, the love, and the wonderful, vibrant joy—weren’t in the box. They’ve gone somewhere else.
When Jenny’s, Qila’s, Nip’s, and Tuck’s remains were returned to us, our feelings were mixed. We still missed our friends but we were glad for some visible sign that they’d been here. Nip and Tuck were incredibly old rabbits. At 11 1/2 they’d lived full long lives.
Jenny was old, too, and was failing slowly. Her death was not really a surprise. And her influence in our house was so great that I think there’s a little of Jenny in each of us now.
Qila had been sick for such a long time that we’d had an opportunity to get used to the idea of his death as much as you can ever get used to something like that.
Getting Mira’s ashes re-opened old wounds. We could only sit there and sob. Mira was so young, just getting started, really, and her death was like a bolt out of the blue. My wife is more inclined than I am to draw positive lessons from her experiences and she says that perhaps Mira’s death can make us remember that life is short and we should love it while we’re here. The only lesson I can draw right now is that the world is a cruel place with little joy in it and there’s less now.
The picture above is one of my favorites of Mira. She’s taking care of her pack. And she’s so, so happy.
