The morning grind, as I refer to it in my mind but never out loud, is less a gritty rub and more a familiar and worn pair of slippers. Shaking Sandman and slumber, I roll to my left side, and with weighted lids, focus beyond the window, relishing the last moments of blanket snuggles and pillow kisses. Pulling the covers over my shoulders and under my chin, I wriggle and squirm until my body finds the perfect position in my mattressed cocoon. Thoughtlessly, I stop moving at "just right", my personal imitation of Goldilocks.
I love my winter view: barren trees, tall and proud, a silhouetted salute to their Creator. When midnight and blue ease into dawn and magenta, it's past time for me to get up.
Children awakened, half a cup of coffee down, quickly showered and dressed, I'm at the "blow-drying" step of Morning Grind when routine is interrupted by my youngest at my bathroom door. Quiet sobs companion a river of tears streaming down his cheeks.
I've always loved his cheeks, funny how they're a favorite feature of mine. I suppose it has to do with his beautiful-from-birth complexion and how they're perfectly rosy, something I must buy at the cosmetic counter to achieve the same effect.
Without a word, I turn off the dryer and pull him into me. He's becoming less a little boy as my chin lifts to accommodate his height, and I'm almost thankful he's still little boy enough to cry, to need consolation. My long-sleeved tee becomes a drying cloth for his leaking eyes and nose, but of course, I don't mind. Through muffled sobs, he manages to explain.
"Bananas is gone."
Bananas is the baby of the bunny pair he received Christmas before last, our favorite because he was different than the other four in the litter, the one he chose to keep. They were jet black like their parents, but Bananas dipped into the recessive gene pool, and surfaced a silvery gray. When young, we favored him simply because he was The Different One; in true ugly duckling form, he grew beautiful with time.
Because Bananas is a boy, and rabbits aren't known for "that" without reason, two litters too late we separated him from Pepper, his mother (at $200 to spay a rabbit, separation was the reasonable choice). Over the weekend, he moved from a cage in the garage to a larger pen in the backyard; to give him a "hiding spot", we placed his smaller cage within the larger.
This morning when Stephen went out to feed and water his babies…Bananas wasn't in the pen; as realization set in, Stephen ran to his "hiding spot", his mama's arms. My heart ached for him–I know the affections he has for those silly rabbits! I ached because he was grieving and shocked and panicked…and I ached because there wasn't a thing I could do to make it better.
I'm not sure how long I stood there holding him, letting him cry, but eventually in some desperate attempt to "do something", I moved us to the loveseat and started praying (out loud) for him. I prayed for peace and grace for Stephen…I prayed for protection for Bananas…I prayed that we'd find him…I offered thanks for the time we had with him…and I thanked God He welcomed our prayers when we didn't know how or what to pray.
I felt like an idiot.
We continued with our morning and just prior to leaving for school, cruel fate taunted and teased us: the kids and I, standing in our kitchen, saw a blur of fur pass the window. Excitedly Thomas said, "that was Aussie…chasing Bananas…!" and while the children flew out the door to the backyard, I ran to the garage door to head our Australian Shepherd off….
But she was much too fast, and none of us saw anything more than the woods that edge our lot.
Stephen started crying again.
My house has become a revolving door today; I wander out the back door, then the side door, then the front, looking for a silvery gray ball of fur. Today, I despise the squirrels normally in which I take delight. When did our front yard become a haven for crows? There are four, and as they tuck and strut and peck for food, they become objects for me to transfer my sadness and frustration, I honestly hated those little black birds…it's crazy, but they look like symbols of death to me.
While there's certainly a chance Bananas will return home, it's unlikely. Stephen will mourn but soon get over it, and he'll learn a painful lesson in learning to cope with loss. I suppose that's why sadness has invaded my heart today…I want to protect him…all my children…from loss. If it were left up to me, I'd insulate them from all of life's worries and pains and losses…
…and in so doing, I'd do them no favors. In fact, I'm certain it would be to their detriment.
My own mother died after a five-year battle with cancer when I was nine years old. Third grade. That's just not supposed to happen.
I'm convinced, however, her premature death ultimately gave me a strength I'd never know otherwise. It taught me to cope with pretty much everything else that came my way. It fostered a compassion for others that might never have developed. What could have broken me and given me excuse to become a life-long victim, instead seeded in me a spirit of "carpe diem", a better understanding of the brevity of life…an appreciation for days filled with the good and the not so good.
As a child of God, I pray to have the eyes of Christ, to see from His perspective when my own makes little sense to me. My heart longs to have an understanding of the "whys" of circumstance, though sometimes that desire isn't satisfied. One of Scripture's truths I cling to is Romans 8:28; it's one of those gems that convince me of God's sovereignty, that He actually knows more than me (or anyone else for that matter). That His way is best.
Sooo…bunny trails…I'm hoppin' down frickin' bunny trails because we've got a rabbit on the lose! Anyways…it's about time to go bunny hunting again…15 minutes has passed since my last check, and maybe this time he'll surprise me by showing up.
Realizing shortly after that I have to pick Stephen up from school, nothing would make me happier.
Even if it means he doesn't learn a "valuable life lesson"…this time.
Ahhhhh! That IS sad. I hope you find the bunny :). I’m sad because I feel like all of my new-found friends have taken off down the bunny trail. Come back, I say! Why do you all have to live so far away???
Sending you good wishes for a successful bunny hunt!
{{hugs to you and your little one}}
Robin, I’m so sorry! I hope he comes home, safe and sound and that this lesson can be reserved for another time. It’s so true, though, that we want to shield our children from the very difficult lessons and have them learn from our words rather than their own (hard!) experiences. Hugs!
We would shelter them all if we could. My sons are beginning to understand the permanence of death as my mother just passed away, suddenly, in October. My 5 year old will be sad sometimes, but the 2 year old just wanders through the house, picking up little treasures that are his only memories of ‘Nana’ and saying, “Nana? She’s dead.”
In their simplicity and shallow understanding, I find my hope and my humor.
I pray little Bananas returns home but in the event he doesn’t, I hope for your son’s peace with the loss.
Yes… I’m sad. Lost animals make me sad. Always have. Lost a dog much the same way when I was a little guy. Bothers me to this day. Tell you boy I feel his pain.
I love you. It may be my comment every time you post.
Beautifully written, as usual, Robin. Poor little Bananas – he’s probably terrified out there. I hope you find him soon; while I’m sure the loss would cause some growth in your son, there’s no need to rush it. We all get those tough life lessons sooner or later – I prefer later.
(And I just have to say this: Be vewy, vewy, qwuiet…I’s huntin’ wabbit!)
What a bittersweet story. Thanks for sharing, gal.
Poor Stephen!!! and poor little Bananas.
he’s blessed to have a mother that prays for bunnies. Yes, indeed.
So sorry about the bunny. Hope he returns.
I also lost my mother to cancer when I was in 2nd grade. Although it was a horrible thing to go through, I think it made the strong person I am today. God was faithful to me.
That is so sweet. Aren’t you glad that Stephen hasn’t yet been taught that boys don’t cry and that it’s just a silly little rabbit? Wouldn’t the world be a better place if we all had the compassion of an innocent child. Call me!
What a wonderful post!
-sandy toe
Oh, what a sad time! It is so hard to watch our kids go through something that devastates them so badly. But what better time to learn to cope than when you CAN run to mom’s arms and get comforted and prayed over?
I wish my teens would still come to me, but they don’t most of the time. I guess I gave them what they needed to learn to cope, but I miss it.
That was a beautiful post, Robin. I am sorry for the lost of Bananas and your mom. I am thankful for your ability to share it with us in such a meaningful way.
Lucky kids to have a mom like you.
Valuable life lessons are sometimes better learned at an older age. The loss of a pet is often just as difficult as the loss of a loved one. Because pets ARE loved ones.
And I wouldn’t wish on anyone the losses my daughter and the twins next door to us have faced at such tender ages.
Robin,
Even though I already knew from Twitter, reading this touched my heart! You wrote this beautifully and bittersweet at the same time. I really do hope you find him, even if the chances are slim.
I love that you have such a great relationship with your teenagers, and I pray for the same closeness when mine are older.
{{HUGS}}
Hi Robin
Thanks for sharing your story. Its the sad truth though. Loss is a part of life.
Did you find the bunny?
I have 2 giveaways going on on my blog right now, stop by if you like!
Angie
@pricousins
Oh, Robin. How perfectly you captured those emotions…the heartbreak that comes from being powerless to stop your child’s heartbreak. I’m praying that the bunny will make his way home. I, too, seem to hope for postponed lessons.
Thanks Robin for sharing your heart and in such a well written creative way. Most of all thanks for letting us into your life and sharing your loss.
Blessings to you my friend.
You are so talented. My heart breaks for little Stephen. I hope his beloved pet comes home. And I didn’t know about your loss. That makes my heart ache. You are a very special woman! 🙂
Beautiful written…so much depth and truth…and so sad…
Jyl, I KNOW! I can’t believe people traveled so far; I wonder how many different states were represented @ BD….
Heather…still no bunnybanana :/.
Amo, thanks for your kind words here, but I can’t help but send you {{hugs}} for your sudden loss. My heartfelt sympathies…:(
Seth, Stephen very much appreciated that my “blogging friends” shared in his pain. It even got a “Really?” and a smile out of him.
Amber, JENNY!!!!!!!! xo
Jeni, ah, sweet friend, your comment made me smile! (the end of it, of course) 🙂
Charles, yeah, I’m not rushing him to grow up. You know and I know it happens fast enough on its own.
Sandy toe, in just a few words, you encouraged me greatly :).
Qtpies, they’ll come when they **need** you; soon, they’ll understand it’s more often than they realize.
Janel, awwww…thank you :).
Tonggu Momma, sounds like your daughter & neighbors could use some hugs, too :/. Life’s a process, huh? Sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter….
Amber, I’m pretty sure those “great relationships” began years ago…kinda where you are right now :). Thanks for your kind words here (& on twitter).
Angie, no…haven’t seen his little gray cottontail :(.
WGM, those words flowed out of me because at that moment, the feelings were flowing, ya know?
Ah…Peggy, your words are blessing to ME!
Musings, (thanks for the stumble, sweets!). Don’t you wish we’d have time sometime to tell our stories in full?? In person??
Becoming Me, actually, Stephen’s doing better than me, I think. Maybe he cried the tears I wish I could have. Why I was so attached to that little rabbit makes no sense to me at all!
Robin — as always — so well said. Your children shall rise up and call you blessed. Maybe not now, but when they have their own children and realize the mom you are.
Losing our pets is almost like losing a family member. We lost our beloved dog last summer, and it was months before I could come out of my room in the morning without expecting to see his sweet face greeting me.
what a hard situation.. It’s such a bittersweet feeling to comfort our children when they are sick or sad. Your heart aches for them and yet it feels so good to have them seek comfort from your arms.
I hope Bananas comes home 🙂
Robin, oh, ugh. . . No sign of the Banana bunny yet? You’re so right, like you, I’d shield them if I could. Proud of you, to think at that time, to sit down and pray – you’re showing him to turn to Jesus in times of pain – probably the best “life lesson” he’ll learn out of this.
Truly I am so sorry.
Last night, my daughter came in from her chickens crying. Very similar story. “Sparrow” the little chick who came to us with broken feet, and thusly became her favorite, disapeared. . .How she could have gotten out of the coop or the yard, I do not know. But she’s gone, without a trace.
I did not have the presence of mind (spirit) to sit down and pray with her. I wish I would have. I just rubbed her back and let her cry.
Perhaps you feel it so much because it’s not just the rabbit – it’s your son’s pain too.
oh, Robin, I also hope that Bananas somehow finds his way back safe and sound.
What a hard, hard day for you and your son. Hope Bananas comes home!
Aawww, this really choked me up. Have you found him? I so understand exactly what you mean about keeping them insulated…. but you can’t.
Just read about this in twitter (thanks for connecting!). So very, very sad about the babies. I grew up on a farm with a revolving door of chickens, bunnies, dogs, etc., and I too believe pets are an important way for kids (and adults) to learn about the cycle of life and know they will pull through. You’ve had a tough couple of days, though. Thoughts and prayers to you all!