Spica, my little fighter

"Don't cry because it ended. Smile because it happened." -Dr. Seuss. Smile? How can I smile about death? Death is the ultimate end -- at least for those of us who are left on this world. Spica left me just moments ago. He was a brave little hamster. He was the smallest of the pups, he was missing a hind leg, yet he knew how to assert himself to get mommy's attention. On the day he was born, I feared he would not make it. He went against everything I thought. Survival of the fittest? He did survive. Mommy hamster getting rid of the weak ones? He was strong enough. Three limbs and couldn't walk? He ran. Pass the fourteen-day crucial period for pups? He got through better than I expected. He was a fighter. I got my hopes high for him, but he did, indeed, went against my thoughts. I thought he and I would share three wonderful years together (average hamster lifespan). I thought wrong. I love all my pups, but Spica had always been special. He was the first one to get a name. Spica means the brightest star in the constellation Virgo. He was a star to me. My sister always picked on him for being slow (forgive her, she's just a kid), but I knew he was just a late bloomer and he just needed extra love and attention. I had already planned out three years of love and attention for him. I made a promise that he would live a full and happy life as if he was normal size and as if he had four limbs. Just like that, my promise was broken, just like my heart. It was unbearable to see him not moving while his siblings were excited to explore the world with their newly opened eyes. It was more devastating to go from denial to acceptance.

When I saw him this morning, he was doing great. I changed their bedding and I even hand-fed him with some cucumber. When I went to check on the pups this afternoon, some of them were napping. I assumed Spica was just doing the same. I sat with them for a while, played with those who are awake, and one by one the sleeping pups stirred and got up to play. Spica was just lying there even after his siblings nudged him. I was in complete denial. I checked back a few minutes only to find him in the same position. Tears began to trickle down my face. It was my first time to be present at my pet's death. It was a sight that would haunt me forever. It is so difficult for me to accept that I can never feel Spica's warm fur and wriggly body on my palm again, yet I can't help but think he is in a much better place now.

I know I am probably not the best pet owner in the world, but I am very thankful that I was blessed with Spica and all my seven other hamsters. At the beginning of this entry I was complete devastated, but as I went on, I come to realize that yes, I can smile because it happened. I can smile because Spica is truly where he belongs -- in the night sky. They say stars are there because they are tiny openings from Heaven so that our loved ones that passed away could watch us. He would always be that star that watches me. We may never share great moments anymore, but we made great memories; hence, death is not the ultimate end, but a journey that makes us stronger.

Spica -- July 14, 2011-July 30, 2011. Thank you for teaching me that I can take on the world no matter what. This is a very sad day for me, but in this darkness, the thought of you being in a much happier, much comfortable place gives me the spark to create light. Never stop shining. It's time for you to share your light to someone else. Thank you, I love you.