I’m writing this to pour over my thought process and inner dialogue of voices in my head to reason with my grief. Please be patient. And if you’re a grieving pet owner over the loss of your pet, deep condolences for you. Hope this piece of my rambling can soothe your heart. My heart goes for you.
It’s just a change, a subtle one, or big alterations in my daily routine that scream that he’s no longer here in this plane of existence.
No more food and water bowls to fill in and clean up. When I look at the magic jar, its bowl now is upside down near the drying rack because I don’t need to cook rice every other day (I can buy my own meal, thanks). No more the tippy-tappy paws and nails clicking on the floor. No more wagging tails. No more whines to cuddle or get closer. No tick tick tick sound of his nails on the tiles when he approached while I was eating but did not invite him (because it was human food and he had his meal already). The longing look, the puppy eyes that managed me to give away small bites. The small sneezes. The dry coughs. The whimpers when he heard loud noises such as thunder.
I always stole a look inside my room before I left for somewhere close by to be sure he was warm and laying on a mat next to my bed. He usually waited patiently as he knew I was just leaving for nearby grocers or vendors.
He sat beneath my desk while I was busy on my laptop. He laid beneath my bed while I was enjoying internet content. He slept next to the sofa when I binge-watched MCU movies on the weekends. He sniffed the bag when I brought home Shihlin fried chicken and then I gave him some. He slithered his way into my heart sneakily. Before long, I was captured by him and devoted my life to his happiness. I upgraded his food from chicken liver to chicken drumsticks or drummets. I played with him during my weekends at home.
I knew him only short while since I was first introduced to this house. And ever since, I’ve loved him.
I took him to the vet and bought a crate for him. Booked Grab and endured uncomfortable conversation with the driver just so I could take Vipi to the vet. I miss his barks when I shook the front gate open because the gate is kind of stuck and snapped in the middle.
Sometimes, he woke me up in the middle of the night and I’m always okay with that. He just wanted to go out of my room then came back. I hid him from my sister-in-law’s view because he sometimes jumped to my bed (luckily she’s no longer here).
I dislike my husband’s nephews as they’re so loud they scared him off. They’re no longer here, either. So I took 100% care of Vipi for months now.
I miss having him follow me around inside the house. Or when he was tired, he just came inside my room and laid down while I did some work outside. Alas, he even interrupted my yoga session by squeezing himself beneath my downward dog position, disrupting my pose. But I wasn’t angry with him. I never got angry with him. I simply moved him away.
Perhaps, I still cry because of change in my daily habits. Those habits are at odds because Vipi is no longer here. It’s like my head tries to reason that Vipi is happy now and at ease, possibly comforted by Jesus Himself. But my heart still stays in the past. Silly me. I should be happy that he’s taken care of by supreme beings like angels, far more superior in protection than I am, a mere mortal.
It’s just … I feel alone in this empty hole. But then again, that’s the essence of life.
I gave away his food (frozen chicken and some at the fridge) and long leash to Rumahnya Coco boarding house. He was buried with his collar to let him know that he belonged in his house. To act as a remembrance that he was always a part of the family, that he won’t be left alone. I think that knowledge will serve as a wonderful companion in his journey to the afterlife.
I only regret one thing: I wasn’t there when he was on his last breath. I was away at a warung. But before I left for that warung, apparently he waited for me home on the evening of 28th. He waited for me arriving at home after work despite he had possibly been dying. His loyalty was beyond infinity. I know that sounds impossible in math but I just wanted to prove a point.
My heart recognises the changes and refuses to change, despite my head tells me this is the best way. I should let him go. I cry because of memories. Because heart doesn’t get along with abrupt changes, especially after a loss. But I’ll always remind myself that there’s no way Vipi is happier here than there. In Heaven, there’s no pain, no cough, no sneeze, no vomit, no stress, can eat without getting fat, can play and run without old body hindering him. He can do whatever he pleases. Forever.
How long is forever?
Would he be bored?
Hm, maybe no.
I guess he won’t have sense of time any more, will he?
I’m jealous of all the angels who can play with you now, Vipi.
Vipi reminds me that we’re fragile. That our body submits to a biological clock. That some processes are irreversible. That entropy exists and can change things permanently. But physical realm is only so far as our atom constitutes. It doesn’t encompass the soul realm, the eternity, or the so-called afterlife. It doesn’t acknowledge that life has meaning not because of death, but because of what we can do during the relatively short time on earth before going back to the home realm where we started.
Vipi’s soul collects star dust. Someone ever said: We’re just momentary specks within an indifferent universe.
But that because one discounted the soul. This Earth survived many millennia and extinction events. Yes, our short life doesn’t compare to this universe’s age. But our soul? Our souls are eternal. Finding their way, woven and entangled to each other in life-given time.
Vipi was tasked with something by The Creator. I don’t know what task it was. But somehow a line in his manual book said: find Sekar and help her. And helping me he did.
Now that he’s back to The Creator, playing and roaming freely at the Garden of Eden, I believe he’s being rewarded for being a very good boy.
Yes, my Lord, he was a very good boy. The gentlest, purest soul I’ve ever met.
Sweet little Vipi, I don’t know how long more I’ll be here. But I still have my mission. You have completed yours, so you get your reward. I haven’t. Please pray for me from above, and let’s hope we’ll reunite happily later.
Till we meet again, Pi.
In memoriam: Vipi.