I miss his energy that bounces off of the walls when I come home after school. I miss the times where he would jump and twist for a minute, nonstop. I miss when he would chin my laptop, when I would be the only person awake at 1:32 a.m.. I miss him nudging my legs when it got in his way.
May 17 was the first time I lost what I cherished the most, when Thumper—one of my pet rabbits—hopped across the rainbow bridge without notice. On May 8, my family and I took him to the veterinarian after noticing his unusual behaviors; he didn’t eat and move as much. After taking an X-ray and reviewing his blood work, the results showed that he was perfectly fine, other than the fact that there was a clump of fur sitting in his stomach.
For his recovery, my family and I were told to make sure he was eating his hay and drinking water on a daily basis. Around a week after his check up, his condition was not improving in any way, so my mom was told to bring him back to the emergency animal hospital for a surgery to get the fur out after dropping me off at school.
Heavy heartedly, his surgery did not go as planned, as the veterinary surgeons diagnosed him with an organ failure while he was under anesthesia. This gave us no choice but to send him peacefully to an eternal rest.
My family and I like to believe that Thumper’s final gift to us was enduring his condition to spend nine days with us before crossing the rainbow bridge. Although Thumper was a part of my family for less than 3 years, he was a vital part of our lives. For me, his passing led to my first experiences of grief. I vividly remember holding on to his small body at the vet, hoping he would breathe once more.
Losing his presence left an open cut, and I felt the stinging at night—I missed him more than anything. During the times before May 8, I would always see Thumper grooming Lily, my other pet rabbit, around 12 a.m.. Afterwards, he would always approach me out of curiosity. With his absent presence, I constantly feel sorry for Lily, as there’s no one beside her to flood her with attention and affection as much as Thumper did.
To this day, I greatly regret not spending time with him weeks prior in excuse of my tight schedule. Bearing in my mind that I barely gave him a glance before leaving for school on the morning of May 18, puts a heavy weight on my shoulders.
After what seemed like forever, I was gradually able to move past the heart aching events. However, those few days were cut short when guilt wrapped around my mind—when his passing became tranquil. I was scared that I would forget about him; I didn’t want to forget his mannerism and our memories.
To cope through the bitterness of the entire process of grief, I utilized journaling—one of my hobbies—as an opportunity to write letters addressed to Thumper. I would describe my day, along with anything lingering in my mind. This way, not only am I able to reminisce back to the times when he was around, but it also helps me not to forget about his existence.
As death is an inevitable factor of life, I’m always hit with the realization that everything must come to an end. Yes, death may seem intimidating, but it signifies peace. Death can be freedom, and it can also be a pathway to a new journey. Some may believe that the sentiments of losing a pet should not be compared to the sentiments of losing a family member, however, a pet is a loved one. Showing a pet unconditional love and sharing unforgettable memories with them, makes them part of a family—making it difficult to cope through death.
Throughout this rough journey, I have come to acknowledge that regardless of the size of what’s lost, the emotions I may experience are valid. Moreover, understanding that it is completely okay for me to move on with my life—rather than being stuck in the past. With days passing by, I’m relieved that somewhere, my once carefree and mischievous companion is hopping around a meadow full of vibrant, blossomed flowers, waiting for us to reunite.
