April 11, 2008
Why do we parents extol the genius credentials of our children in some areas while selling short their level of sophistication in others? I received another parenting lesson today, compliments of a dead hamster named Garagey. I felt bad about this little guy going; he was my favorite. A tough little ball of true-survivor, who loved the company of people.
If most pets were left to the care of the kids that we ostensibly buy them for they would probably all starve. So we, as parents, feed them, play with them and generally look after their welfare while the kids tend to check in and out of the cycle when they want to play with something furry. The result is that we become vested somehow and see the pet as ours as much as the kid’s. We also think that our kids need us more than they do in some situations, and that is my epiphany today.
So Garagey finally met his match in a combination of old age (2, for God’s sake) and illness. He died during the night and I placed him in a matchbox so that we could have a proper memorial before finding him a nice spot in the landscape. Nick and I went to baseball practice after school and, while there, Cindy and Natalie saw fit to put Garagey to rest. The logic of not keeping a dead animal in the house any longer than necessary was lost on Nicholas however, who never got a chance to say goodbye.
So like some kind of rodent version of CSI, we exhumed the body. Nick took the shovel and tidied up the hole in the rose bed while we collected some rose petals and lavender. Nick and Natalie covered Garagey with two of the rose petals and they both said goodbye before we slid the box closed. Nick, still stoic, said “I think we should say a few words” and everyone said something nice about our friend and how much we loved him. We then reburied him and Natalie placed a small shrine on top: An abalone shell filled with water and floating blueberries (he loved them) and a plastic gemstone with lavender flowers on the rim. Nick added a skateboard wheel with yet another plastic jewel. The purpose, according to Natalie was twofold: For his journey, and just in case he comes back. (Gifts to the afterlife; a concept that struck me as sort of Egyptian). I went with the journey theory because the other sounded too much like a Stephen Spielberg movie.
More words, a few minor tears, then Cindy & I went inside. Nicholas stayed with the shrine, sitting at the edge of the rose bed. We began to hear soft crying, then wailing; the sound of awful grief. Cindy and I both spring for the door because that’s what parents do. Delayed reaction notwithstanding, if the kid is hurting the kid gets held. What stopped us was the sight of Natalie beating us to him. She wrapped her arms around him and held him, rocking slightly on her heels. She is now crying herself and they hold each other, together in uninhibited sorrow.
It was then that I realized that the injection of either one of us into that moment would have ruined it. They still need us, of course. But right then they needed each other more, locked in the wrenching simplicity of childhood sorrow. I thought to myself: Hold on to each other guys. A little more cement in that relationship, a slightly stronger bond that we can only hope will last a lifetime.
And that may be about as much as a seven dollar hamster can teach us. Natalie’s gut response to her brother’s sadness made me realize that they are getting old enough to take charge of the moment and wise enough to know that making it better isn’t always possible. It is also not the only thing that matters; And when they’re not fighting or otherwise tormenting each other, that sister-brother love and support can be priceless commodities; And that sometimes the best parenting option is to just observe, with respect.
Goodbye Garagey, sileo in pacis. I don’t know about those two but I got my seven bucks worth.
