A Death in the Family

At noon today our son’s iguana died. She came into our lives 4 ½ years ago and had made herself part of the family, and now it feels like our family is incomplete. Our son has taken it pretty hard so far, with a lot of emtion coming through his usually stoic demeanor. I wasn’t as intensely bonded as he was, so mainly I’m grieving for him.

After we buried her in the backyard I remembered a line from the liturgy used in our church’s blessing of the animals service. The congregation reads a list of reasons why our pets are important, and one is that pets teach our children to love and to grieve. I’d always appreciated the wisdom of that line, but from now on it will have heart-meaning too. Whenever I read that sentence I will remember the tears at the graveside by the lilac bush.

In college I was depressed for a long time over the break-up of a relationship, and I seriously considered that maybe the natural state of human emotions is neutrality, and that every ounce of joy and love must be repaid with an equal measure of sorrow and grief. Although there may be a philosophical argument for this symmetry, the evidence of our lives says not so, or else we would learn to live in numb isolation, never taking in pets, never marrying except for a tax break, and never voluntarily having children. Some inner optimism drives us on to seek love and relationship, knowing full well we will pay a price in grief, unless we die first.