Fall is here, the last hurrah before the Midwest winter buries us in snow and makes the residents of this frosty land question if continuing to live here is an erosion of our sanity. The crisp air makes everything feel fresh and eager, when in fact the natural world is battening down the hatches, preparing for the winter that not everyone will see the other side of. Fall is a death, and a prep for rebirth. A threat, and a promise.
After my parents got divorced we lived in an apartment, and then we moved to the house on Jonathan Ave, where my youngest sister and my mom still live. My sister was six when we moved. We met Peta a few days after we moved in. She was playing at the park down the street with her uncle Steve. Peta was five.
Peta spent a lot of time at our house. A LOT OF TIME. She went everywhere with us, and I felt like she was my sister. She was tall and blonde, like mom, and when we were out, people thought Peta was her daughter, instead of us. She loved Harry Potter, and animals and was a sweet and gentle girl, not afraid to be quirky, with a quiet, bright smile.
She died last week on Tuesday. The funeral was yesterday.
We released balloons into the air and we watched them float out of view, and then we watched a little longer because we didn’t know what else to do. When people stopped saying, “I can still see one.” we just drifted away too.
I came home and found Calypso’s seven baby piglets she started birthing around the time we were letting balloons go. Dizzy is in the stall next to her with her 8 piglets and Penelope is growing fatter and fatter in the stall next to her waiting for her turn to farrow, which should be any time.
So much death, so much birth.
Life is just to fragile. Be kind to each other.