Dear Simone

Dear Simone,

Hammy is dead.

My last words to him were, “I love you fatty.” And then I went to work. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone. It would not have changed the outcome, but I would feel better, I think. Less guilty. He knows he was loved. Right? No more “gimme kissy kissy,” in my baby voice. Tiny little nose, tiny little paws, and tiny little head rubs to sleep.

His remains are in my room, where his cage used to be. I couldn’t bear the thought of him being cold by the window in the living room. Silly, I know. Anyways…he belongs in my room.

This year: I lost my car, my best friend, my grandmother, my sparkling waters were discontinued, I was in an accident, found out about cancer, our guinea died last month, and now Hammy. I’m not sure how much more I can handle. Every day feels like a sad love song.

I miss my Hammy. Constant kissies throughout the day. I still can’t believe he’s gone. I should have taken my meds today. Now I can’t stop crying. I look at his pics at least 4 times a day. He was the best little guy. Oh, Hammy. I can’t get myself to use a real picture of him. And I kept looking through, beginning to end. Reminding myself, this is real. This happened. He really is gone. I’m glad he’s not buried at a cemetery. I might be bold enough to lay next to him and cry my day away. Instead, he’s on top of my black dresser, with the closet doors open. So every time I turn to the side, I see the pot with his name on it. Sometimes, I can hear him on his wheel. But I know it’s just a memory. One time, it even felt like I smelled him, like after his bath. I wonder if that’s his way of telling me he’s still around. I honored him with three tattoos on myself. So he knows he will never be forgotten. He was tiny, but he took a huge piece of my heart with him.