Whispers, my most beloved guinea pig, passed away Tuesday morning. I honestly don't know what I can say or how I can say anything at all without crying; he's always been my best friend, and he's always been there. He was 8 years old, and had been with me and my family during the best and worst of times as a source of relief from the stresses of David's cancer and relapse.

Whisps was diagnosed with a kidney stone while I was on my camp retreat over the weekend, and had been taken to a local veteranarian hospital. I came home Sunday to find him so ill that we had to force-feed him mushed-up hay. On Monday, my dad took him to a hospital in Santa Monica which was where they were planning to do surgery. They kept him in a roomy cage with an incubator, where he was held overnight.. and died that Tuesday morning.

My room is so silent without him, and his empty cage gives it all a very ghostly feel. I couldn't sleep in my room Tuesday night, nor did I have the heart to clean out the newspaper from under my bed; it gives the impression that he's still sleeping under there, ready to poke his head out excitedly at the sound of footsteps proceeding towards my room.

It saddens me that my last time holding him was in order to feed him so pathetically, and that the last peaceful moment we had together was on Sunday, as I held him over my shoulder and felt his slower, tired heartbeat and watched his lungs rise and fall. I know he was content in that moment, and I'll never forget it.

I went with my dad Tuesday afternoon to pick up Whispers' body. They brought him to me in a small box, which, when opened, revealed his body beneath a few flowers. As I reached out to pet him, I felt his cold, still flesh beneath his soft fur, and I couldn't take it anymore - I've never cried harder in my life, and I cried the entire way home as his box sat in my lap. At home, I placed him (in his box) in his cage, and put his red log on top of the box. I wandered the house aimlessly for what felt like years, occassionally finding myself back in my room. When I started sobbing hysterically again, I knew we had to bury him.

We found a spot in our backyard covered in moss and grass, with soil that was dark with moisture and richness. My dad dug a hole for Whispers, and wrapped him in a small piece of flanel. As he lay Whispers in his hole, I brought out the red log, and placed it over Whispers, making it his home again. My parents and I then ceremoniously filled the hole with dirt handful by handful and just stood gazing peacefully at Whispers. We then lit a memorial candle, and I sat with Whispers as long as I could.

I've visited his grave every morning, and am planning on doing so before I go to bed. When the time is right, I'll start over with new life. But now I'll simply sit and remember how wonderful Whispers made my life. Sleep soundly my little one.