Balcony morning. I felt Puhg's shadow before he opened the door. I assumed he was trying to spook me, but he met my smile through the glass with a frown. "It's the ham," he said. My heart thudded. "Is she gone?" I asked. He nodded. I rushed to her cage. He had to be wrong. I reached in to her little nest. It was warm.
But she was cold.
I took her out gently. So small and so peaceful, curled into a crescent moon. Her paws under her head, eyes closed. She went in peace, and for that I couldn't be more grateful. I held her little body to mine, like I'd done hundreds and hundreds of times, but she didn't squirm and she didn't whir.
The tears come every day all the time. Our little precious potato gone too soon. I thank my lucky stars we rescued her from the store right before she'd be in a dark lockdown. I thank my lucky stars it was her, chunky and curious and ready to stuff a raspberry at any given moment.
We piled shavings in a shoebox, lined it with her favorite wooden apple slice, a blueberry treat, a chew stick. No yard cemetery, so we looked up critter cremation and found a place she would get individual treatment. But it was Sunday, so we'd have to wait a day. We took a walk, we sat, we failed at TV. I realized I hadn't eaten, went to pick up a sandwich at 2. A bee stung me. Died in my hair and poisoned my hand. Puffy still as I type.
On Monday she looked so the same. Soft fur and all, hard to believe. I researched hibernating. Never mind it hasn't been cold. Never mind she was stiff and her little nose less pink. We held her to our ears, like we often did to hear her sniffing. Nothing. I wore my black dress and brushed my hair straight. We wrote her letters and slipped them inside. Goodbye, little angel.
She'd been in our car twice--the day she came home and now the day she left. The sky was full of huge fluffy clouds. She'd be burrowing in them. Puhg filled out a form while I held her in my lap. A flower petal fell near us and we gave that to her too. We agreed to close the box together, a final look at our beloved girl. Just as we did, a gust of spring air blew. Is that you? I wondered just as Puhg said, "Ham on the wind."
She was so much more than a hamster. She was a puzzler and a snoozer and a muncher. Sometimes I'd watch her think through a problem or decide to relax. If I gave her a piece of corn she'd look at me for more. She kicked green seeds out of her cage. She had a coconut that she didn't enjoy napping in, so she filled it with grains. She made so many different tunnels and hoards. She showed me being is a wonderful thing. And small things are wonderful things. She gave us the opportunity to be quiet and still all together on the couch. She reminded us to be spontaneous. I'd take a break just because she zoomed out for a drink of water. She gave us happy, goofy times. I'll always remember dancing with her and Puhg, in my platform sandals, her eyes big from the jostles but ready for adventure.
Mornings are the hardest because I'd wake up first and always give a little look in, see what she'd gotten up to in the night. Sometimes I'd catch her stealing a snack. Occasionally I'd get a pre-dawn hold. But also nights are the hardest because we always wished her sweet dreams. Called it out from the bedroom. And mid-days when I'd come back from walks and immediately spy in on her are the hardest too. Every time I rounded the corner last week, I instinctually looked in the cage. Chest tight with false starts, but we cleaned and dismantled it. Put a plant and car keys where she used to be.
When my insomnia has been bad this year I've stumbled out to the couch where I can watch videos loudly or be nearer to the air conditioner or drink tea. And I didn't feel alone in my sorrow or confusion or headache because she'd be a few feet away chattering and running. I'd even take her out some holy nights, sit with her in the darkness. She might squeeze or squeak. The Thursday before we were together at two in the morning. I haven't been able to sleep all week, my hand itching fiercely, my love bruised. But I can't bring myself to go to the living room. I toss and turn instead. At last I dreamt. A huge monarch butterfly landed on my face. It was so real. I woke up, sure it was in the room with me.
I wish we had more time. Love you forever, my sweet sweet ham.
What does it mean? What does it all mean? I had a dream, but what did it mean, what did it mean?
