Warnings for: animal death, grief
Seeing certain items fills me with such a sense of disappointment and sorrow. Some things are just a prickly reminder of what was, and it can be bittersweet.
I associate post hole diggers with death.
Years ago, I held a ball in my cupped hands — A small, spiky little ball with a wriggling nose and bright eyes. She was perfect. I knew it.
I had said I would never find another hedgehog like my first, and while no one could be the precise same as Norsa, Darlene was determined to make her impact in my life. I had cycled through at least three hedgehogs trying to bond with them and failing after Norsa's passing. I loved them, but they weren't what I needed. I needed a friend, and I needed it desperately.
Darlene wasn't even supposed to be mine. My mother had bought her from another breeder and had planned to integrate her into her own lineage. It was a big deal for my mother and she was eager about it.
...And yet, there I was, an angsty teenager with a world of trauma on my shoulders, fawning over this little hedgehog like she was the messiah as soon as she was in the house. I picked her up, and something clicked between us.
It's cheesy, but rather instantly, she was special to me. There was something in those blinking, curious eyes. She was only a little afraid of me, and I was entirely undaunted by her.
She was beautiful.
I think my mom understood, but was disappointed. Since Darlene was my pet, she couldn't be bred — Not after what happened to Norsa.
My mom made a sacrifice for my happiness and let me keep her. I named her Darlene, after Roseanne's daughter in the old sitcom starring Roseanne Barr and John Goodman. I guess in some sort of internal way it was a tribute to the bond my mother and I had over the show... We loved watching Roseanne and Ghost Whisperer together.
I talked to Darlene like she was a special little princess. And she was. I read to her, sang to her... I vented to her and told her my worries.
She always responded the same way. She would look up at me as best she could, wiggling her nose up and down in rapid fashion and blinking kindly. It was the simple behavior of what could be interpreted as a simple animal, but she was there for me. I was there for her. I loved her.
I didn't provide the best life I could have for her. She needed better enrichment, and could have used more space for her enclosure, but I did my best to keep it clean and take her out to explore as often as possible. Knowing what I know now, I would have strived to make the best enclosure the world has seen. She was worth that, not some naive teen's thought of what a small pet needed.
The day she died had been like any other. I came home, and when I entered the room... She was gone. She had curled up in a ball and simply passed away. She had been gone for a while, because she was cold and stiff.
I was devastated after that. I thought for sure that it had been my fault — That I had done something wrong. That I had killed my baby. I worried that maybe, maybe the temperature was too cold in the house. If it was too low, her organs could shut down.
But I don't think that was the case. It was chilly, but her heat emitter was on. She had bedding to seek shelter in.
She was getting up there in years, and it was just one of those things, I suppose. Hedgehogs don't typically live long.
But I hope her life wasn't terrible.
Because she made my life well worth it.
