Goodbye, Oreo Cookie

When M was 9, she started asking for hamster.  She told us how she would care for the hamster and how much she would love him.  For her 10th birthday, we gave her a hamster.  Well, not really, but we gave her the cage, bedding, food, a ball, and a gift card for her to use at Pet Smart to buy her hamster.  I took her there a few days later and she looked around for a little bit and then pointed to a black and white gerbil and said, "I want him."

"He's not a hamster," I pointed out to her.

"I know, but he's adorable and I think he's mine," she replied.

The employee took him out of the tank and held him out for M to see.  As M was stroking his back she said, "His name is Oreo."

Over the years, M took great care of Oreo. She loved putting him in his ball and he loved running around the house as much as she loved watching him.  He would perch on her shoulder and nibble her shirts and she "trained" him to come up to the top level of his cage when she called his name and held out a treat.

I loved Oreo too.  Every night when I tucked M into bed, I'd go to Oreo's cage and hold out a treat.  Watching him eat it was one of my favorite things to do.

On average, gerbils live to be 3-5 years old.  Oreo would have been 4 in April, so he was a pretty old man.

On Saturday night, I was in M's room, waiting for her.  She came in and said, "Did you give Oreo his nightly treat?"

"I tried," I said. "But he didn't come up."

"Oh. . ." said M.

She went to the cage, held out a treat and called, "Oreo!  Oreo!  Come on, little buddy!"

She looked at me and then back at the cage.  She took off the topper and put her hand into the bedding.

"I'm scared to go down too far, Mommy.  What if I touch his body and he's dead?"

"Do you want to wait for the morning to check?" I asked her.

"Yes," she said mournfully.

The Doctor was out of town and as M was putting the topper back on the cage, I texted him.

"I think Oreo is dead. I was hoping M wouldn't discover it until tomorrow when you're home, but I think she has. I'll call you after I tuck her in."

I tucked in M and she said to me tearfully, "What if he is dead?"

"Then we'll deal with it," I told her calmly. "He's an old gerbil."

I called The Doctor as soon as I got downstairs and we talked about how he most likely is dead.

"Let me talk to M," he said.

I told him she was already in bed.

"I'll call her.  I'll call you right back," he said, hanging up.

(Side Note: We let the girls sleep with their phones in their rooms because they each listen to classical music at night and the phones double as iPods.  They are locked down from any other kind of media. I probably shouldn't need to explain that, but you know. . .)

After about 5 minutes, M came into my room, in tears.

"I really need a hug," she cried.

"Do you want to sleep with me tonight?" I asked, while hugging her.

"Yes, please," she said in a small voice. "If he is dead, can we bury him in the backyard?"

My phone rang and I answered it, seeing it was The Doctor.

"I spoke to M," he said.

"I know," I replied. "She's here now.  I told her she could sleep with me tonight."

"I figured.  I told her to go down and ask if she could."

"If Oreo is dead, M wants to bury him in the backyard."

"She told me that too," The Doctor replied. "I was looking stuff up and really, the most respectful way is to bring the body to the vet and have them dispose of it. But, we can get her a garden stone for her to decorate and put his name on and she can put it in the yard as a memorial to him."

"That is a brilliant idea," I said.

We said our goodnights and M and I got into my bed.

"Did Daddy say we can bury him in the backyard?" she asked.

I told her what he said and she nodded.

"That sounds like a good idea. I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep tonight," she said, sniffling.

"Just do your best," I told her.

In the morning, I got up just before 7 (On a Sunday.  Yuck! But such is life.) to exercise and M got up too.

"OK.  I'm going to get a garbage bag and am going to clean out Oreo's cage.  I really hope I find out he's OK."

"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked.

"No," she said, shaking her head.  "I can do this."

"Ok.  Bring up 2 baggies too, just in case," I told her.

I went and put on my Country Heat DVD (this is another blog post all on it's own) and started.  About 5 minutes in, I hear M shriek, "No!!!  He's dead!  He's really dead!!"

I paused the DVD, went to her room and found her sobbing in front of his cage.

"I can't believe it," she sobbed.  "I mean, I knew he might be but I was so hoping he wouldn't be!"

I gave her a huge hug and when she let go, I asked her if she wanted help cleaning out his cage. To my great relief, she said no.  She picked up his body and cradled it in her hands.  At this point B and L came into the room to see what was going on.

"Oh, Oreo, my baby boy," she cried.

I held opened the baggie and she started to put him in. I kind of shrieked and B took the baggie from me.

"Let me do this," she said.

I left the room and B and L stayed to help M.

About an hour later, M came into my room, crying.

"I'm a terrible pet owner," she said.

"What on earth are you talking about?" I asked her, shocked.

"I should have known he was going to die.  I should have been there for him," she said, crying.

I explained to her how animals hide the fact they're sick and often curl up to die, then I asked her if she wanted to go out to breakfast.

On our way to breakfast, she said to me. "I never told anyone, but Oreo had a middle name."

"He did?" I asked, with a sad smile.

"Yes," she answered, very seriously.  "Cookie.  His name was Oreo Cookie."

"That is a very nice name and I think that will look very nice on a garden stone," I told her.

Pretty much all day yesterday we talked about the grief process, and how the stages are fluid.

At one point, she had laughed about something and then said, "Wait.  I shouldn't feel happy.  Oreo died."

"It's OK to continue to feel other things," I pointed out. "It's OK to feel sad about Oreo and still laugh at a tv show."

"I don't think I want another pet again," she said. "This is just too hard."

"Oh, but M," I said to her. "Think about how much joy Oreo brought you. Yes, saying goodbye is the hardest part of owning a pet, but the joy the pet brings is so much greater than the sadness of saying goodbye. You feel so sad because you loved him so much. Don't let the sadness dissuade you from loving another pet."

Later, I told her we needed to clean out his cage with water and bleach.

"Do you want to help, or will it be too hard for you?" I asked.

"I want to help," she said.

We went outside and she helped until she thought a bug was by her ear.

"It's a wasp!" she gasped, putting down the paper towels and walking away. "Sorry, I'm out of here. I don't do wasps, or spiders, or bugs, or the outdoors, really."

As I was just about finished, my watch buzzed with a text message from M.

"The 'bug' I felt on my ear was actually hair. Sorry for leaving you with the wasp."

It was a much needed laugh after such a sad morning.

Last night, though, as I was tucking her into bed, the tears came again.

"This is the first night in almost 4 years I'm sleeping in a room without another life in it," she cried.

"I know," I said, hugging her.

"It's amazing how empty the room feels now," she said.

"I know," I said again, hugging her.

I looked over to where Oreo's cage used to be and felt tears come to my eyes.  When M first said she wanted a rodent my skin crawled at the idea of it, but truthfully, I loved that little gerbil just as much as M did and I will miss him every time I go into her room.

Goodbye, Sweet Oreo.  Thank you for giving M so much love and for being the best rodent we ever had.