The Sora Saga: A Chronicle of Grief

Introduction

The following series of poems was written as a way to process the loss of my first [fur]baby. While everyone has a different vision of what will make them feel complete in life, mine was fairly simple. I've never needed riches or fame, but ever since I was young, my life dream was to own a corgi. I spent years begging my parents for one, only to be told no. It wasn't until I was grown, engaged and with my own apartment that my parents finally decided to surprise me with my life dream.

Christmas of 2019, my parents surprised me with Sora. My husband and I chose this name due to our shared favorite video game, Kingdom Hearts. Sora was so sweet and precious, quiet, timid, sleepy. Only two weeks after getting the only thing I had ever desperately wanted, Sora left us. Late in the night, he began seizing uncontrollably. It was heartbreaking in that emergency room, praying desperately for aid, praying desperately that he would be ok. It ripped my heart out seeing him stiff and seizing, over and over again - an absolute nightmare.

After grueling hours at his own clinic, we realized there was no hope. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to us, he had been born with hydrocephalus (water head). Even more unfortunate, there was no way to have detected this, or to prevent or remedy it. On January 8th, after just two weeks, we lost our baby boy and I was devastated. It was one of the first real shakes to my faith.

I've never had an interest in having children and neither has my husband, but Sora was our son. Sora was the son I had always wanted and he was taken so suddenly. To me, it felt the equivalent to a parent losing their child to SIDS - sudden and agonizingly cruel. Why give me what I've always wanted, just to rip him away in just two weeks? I couldn't understand it, had never felt so broken, so empty. I felt his loss in every fiber of my being and no longer knew who I was. I felt I had thrown myself so fully into being his mom, had been gearing my whole life for that specific role, that without him, I didn't know who or what I was.

At first, we had no intention of getting another, despite the breeder offering. You can't replace a son and the idea of opening my heart once again was terrifying. The breeder was wonderful throughout the process, checking in frequently on our well-being, willingly paying for the autopsy, keeping the offer open for another. We really began to see his namesake then.

In Kingdom Hearts, Sora is the main character, a pure-hearted, brave boy who wields the key blade - a weapon in the shape of a key. With his new friends, [Disney's] Donald and Goofy, they travel to new worlds and, using the key blade to seal each world's keyhole from the growing spread of darkness, the Heartless. In the end of the first game, Sora actually sacrifices himself in order to save his friends. It is then that, essentially, the character Roxas is born. Roxas is a Nobody (a Heartless made from a strong heart lost to darkness) who essentially serves as a vessel for Sora's memories until he is restored, later able to exist on his own.

The wording in Sora's autopsy chilled us immediately, stating there had been a "keyhole-shaped cavity" in his brain. His autopsy led to the rest of the puppies from his litter being checked and tested as well. In a way, his own sacrifice to ensure the health of the others.

As I stated, I was unwilling to get another, but my father felt horrible. Still in touch with the breeder, she mentioned a litter born the same weekend Sora passed away. She offered to keep this litter longer, long enough to see the signs if God forbid it happened again. Giving me more time to process, I hesitantly agreed. As time got closer, I struggled to get excited - I was too scared, too guarded, still too hurt. Even during the four hour drive to pick up our new baby, I struggled to process everything, hyping myself up. It was a no-brainer what his name would be, given everything: Roxas.

When Roxas came into our lives, it was an immediate punch to the gut to realize that we never got to really know Sora - we had only ever met his illness. What we thought was sleepiness and lethargy was really a sign, a symptom, and Roxas' boundless energy and excitement showed us this immediately. How vocal, how responsive, how playful - everything his brother had not, could not have been. It's defined who we are as parents, maybe to a fault.

Roxas is four now. He is still healthy, very happy, very much our pride and joy. But after four years, we are still helicopter parents.  I remember for the first few months, I'd nearly hold my breath to hear the sound of his, freaked out at the slightest sneeze, terrified of reliving that pain. We're not as bad now, but it lingers, inevitably. We have not forgotten his brother and we always made it a point to keep the two separate. Roxas is not a replacement, but he does feel like restitution.