The Illustrated Encyclopedia of an Imaginary Universe

Death’s a funny thing. I experienced my first funeral, and thus saw my first dead body, when I was very young. I recall at least four funerals before I was a teenager: some family friends and a great aunt. I didn’t experience my first truly personal death until I was 18 when my cousin and best friend died in a single-car accident: in a rage, he drove a car at speed over an elevated railroad track which acted as a ramp, launching the car into a spiral probably 50 yards. He died on the scene. The funeral was brutal.

My grandfather died four years later due to complications from asbestosis. He had survived 20 years beyond what the doctors had expected and outlived most of his work friends who had also contracted the disease. Although he appeared frail (I was afraid to hug him too tightly lest he crumble like origami), he was actually incredibly strong to have fought the disease for so long.

Two years later, a friend of mine committed suicide. That funeral was a farce. His parents had let him slip through their fingers. He was coming off drug addiction and was incredibly depressed. They found his car on a lonely strip of southern Louisiana highway but he was nowhere to be found. His parents brushed it off and figured he was on another drug binge and would turn up again later. His body was found in the woods maybe 20 yards from where the car had been found. He had taken a shotgun to the mouth. I wanted to stand up at that funeral and yell at his parents. But I stayed quiet. I’m glad that I did.

A few years later, my father died. It’s been ten years and it’s still too rough to discuss.

The following year, my girlfriend attempted suicide with a drug overdose but I got her to the hospital in time to save her life. A few years after that, a friend died of an accidental drug overdose. A few years after that, an ex-girlfriend successfully committed suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning. She left behind two children. In the midst of those years, a few friends-of-friends also committed suicide.

Death’s a funny thing. I feel like it’s been on my heels all of my life.

Last night, one of our gerbils died. His name was Bundle: a frisky little blonde with black eyes. He was a bit of a character. When there wasn’t any food (or if the food was too stale), he would jump up and down to get our attention, doing little back-flips in the cage. When placed in one of those hamster balls, he would actually truck around the floor, bumping into walls, exploring aimlessly. I think I saw him yawn and stretch more than any gerbil or hamster in my life. He was braver than his brother, Block (who is still doing just fine), and was cool with being held. Block doesn’t like it so much although he was amenable last night after Bundle had died. I’m certain that it was clear to Block that Bundle was going; he kept his distance.

I’m glad that I noticed Bundle’s situation. I had noticed that he had been listless and sleeping almost the entire day. I often tap on their cage or get their attention by running my finger along the mesh on the top but Bundle wasn’t paying much attention to it. At one point, I picked him up and he was very cool to the touch, and he didn’t struggle or react much. I kept an eye on him after that. I had a little hope that maybe he just wasn’t feeling well because he was moving to different parts of the cage to sleep. However, at one point, I saw him laying a bit on his side and I knew that it was nearly over for him. We wrapped him up in a clean dish towel, held him, and pet him in his last moments. He sniffed at us a little bit but didn’t open his eyes. Toward the end, he had a couple of very mild seizures and fits, something which had become increasingly common in him whenever I changed out their bedding; the stress of the change, I suppose, was too much for him to handle. When he was younger, he’d just go ‘tharn’: he’d get as flat as possible and not move, twitching his nose before slowly becoming active again. He struggled a little bit in our hands, had a good little cough, and then died.

I buried him in the overgrowth in the very back of our yard this morning.

Death’s a funny thing. I suppose Bundle’s small stature might make one think that he deserved an equally-small emotional response. I mean, he was just a gerbil after all; you have to know what you’re getting into with such a short lifespan. Isn’t the level of sadness we felt ridiculous? Maybe for some people. Can’t just throw him in the trash. He was a part of this house, a part of our lives, for years. You can’t just throw that away and, if you can, perhaps you shouldn’t own pets.

I’m still a little sad this morning. I’ll miss the little sucker. I picked him out and I named him. I guess a big emotional loss can come in a such a small and dynamic hopping little fuzzy package.

I think I’m going to assuage some of my sadness with some Chinese noodles from Chiang’s for lunch. Chiang’s is supposed to be the best and most authentic Chinese food the city has to offer.