First there’s the shock of death, then the practical aspects of burial. After that, the grind of adjusting to the absence of the being who is now gone. I think that’s hardest — adapting. Oh that that empty feeling would pass quickly. It doesn’t, though.

I’m reminded of a story I read about grief. A man had lost his wife and had a devil of a time getting out of bed in the mornings. So he’d ask himself, What will get me up today?

A ham sandwich, he decided, on that particular day. He’d get out of bed for a ham sandwich. I’ve told this story before but I am relating to it anew today as I adapt to sweet Buster Posey’s death, my little guinea pig. Not like losing a mate, of course. But still a loss, as I loved and cared for him for five years. Another sweet beating heart in my home.

He died suddenly last weekend and didn’t seem to be suffering. Five years is the average life expectancy for these little guys but sometimes they live to seven or eight so when he appeared to lose his appetite my fingers were crossed it was a temporary thing. Maybe I gave him too many sweet red peppers.

I’m glad he waited until I was home. I’d been in the mural painting event down the road, and once I’d returned I checked him often as he wasn’t himself. Gave him little nose scratches. Then he actually groaned a couple of times and died.

Darling little guy. Loved him. Wondering if high-altitude living sped up his demise (don’t think so; they are native to the Andes in So America). He seemed to adapt to life in the Rockies without a hitch.

Monday I took him out of the freezer to bury him. Really tough, but I quite suddenly remembered what my brother and his first wife used to do when one of their (many) dogs died — they’d make a bier, lay him or her out on a blanket with flowers and say goodbye. So I did that with Buster and was amazed at how it comforted me. Maybe my brother was the instigator of that memory as it really helped, those moments of sobbing and petting him and saying goodbye.

And then another amazing thing — I had just met my downstairs neighbors here. Linda and Leo come every year and stay a few months in summer/fall. Coincidentally we arrived home at the same time, and our parking spots are next to each other. I was crying when I got out of the car and Linda, all but a complete stranger, stopped to comfort me. An act of spontaneous kindness. She offered to help me bury my little guy, which happened outside in a spot I can see from my balcony. I hardly know Linda! Yet she wrote out a prayer and we stood and cried — both of us — and held hands at our little mini guinea pig memorial service. Such a generous act.

Today I surrender to this loss. Grief sucks and I’m really practiced at it. It’s hard to absorb the shock of his absence — goodness, how we love our little furry family members. I’m moving through my days as gently as I can. Just heard a great quote I’m going to slightly alter here: Losing a beloved pet may break your heart but it’s a good reminder you still have one.