To the dear Augustus Waters to my Hazel Grace...
PART ONE
From Day One (We Won The Lottery And Then Some)
A Thousand Adventures Together
Black Jack, Jack Black, Jumping Jack, Jack in the Box, Hungry Jack, Jackpot, Race Car, babesie (honestly the name I called him the most)...
No gerbil has ever been through so much with me, and I think few gerbils ever have this much of a story to tell. How many gerbils can say in that in their lifetime they've traveled across the country multiple times, gotten their owner through multiple mental breakdowns, survived a traumatic car accident with their owner, lived in a high class 4 x 1 ft tank that was changed every 3 weeks with new arrangements (trees, coloseums, and so much more), ran across the house freely, eaten this many sunflower seeds (from almost daily scavenger hunts through boxes and ships, etc.), jumped six inches in the air on a regular basis just because he wanted to see his owner (and eat sunflower seeds), recorded a popular video of him doing tricks including walking on his hind legs and jumping back and forth between legs to earn treats, ran at such a fast speed that our eyes could barely track him (the Jack sprints that got him the nickname "race car"), eaten multiple cardboard boxes on the daily and sometimes egg cartons, and gotten the amount of love and attention that this boy has gotten (even through the multiple clothing items he destroyed with his chewing habits)...?
~*~
Nashville
Yes. Perhaps the most complex adventure to tell with him is the story of Nashville. I moved to Nashville at the end of summer 2019. It ended up being a traumatic experience, but also one of the best experiences of my life. I new I could never move away from home without my little Jack. We were going to move him in an approximately 18 x 12 in. box with air holes in the top, but it was apparent from the start that he was not happy in there, so I insisted he be allowed to travel in his ginormous 4 x 1 ft tank.
I only planned to live in Nashville for 1-2 years, and I don't think I've ever told anyone this but the biggest reason for that time limit was because I knew that if Jack died (most gerbils live 2-3 years, and he would be 2 in spring 2020), it was an event I could not in any way handle without the support system of home. There were some sad things about the move, including the fact that he wouldn't get to do one of his favorite daily activities of jumping up and down flights of stairs, but sacrifices had to be made -- don't worry, Jack, you know this didn't last long :) -- I tried creating a play area in my room for him out of cardboard boxes. I knew it wasn't the same and that he wasn't as happy as at home in MN with all his freedoms, but we had to make do.
Nashville is, of course, where I went through the biggest mental breakdown of my life. So many things went wrong at once, and I reached a point where I was barely eating, I was throwing up while driving in rush hour almost daily, migraines were a regular, and my work situation was a disaster. I can truly say that Jack was my one constant through all of this. The cherry on top was when I almost passed out driving from overwhelm and the variety of physical complications I was having.
I finally reached out to my aunt and uncle, who were always there for me, and let them know how bad it was getting. My aunt started bringing me food, but things got bad enough that I did end up in the hospital. During that week, my roommate took care of Jack for me (thanks, Cecilia!) The one thing I missed the most through my week in the hospital was Jack.
But lets just top off how much Jack were there for me throughout his life by letting me be there for him. After two weeks in a partial hospitalization program, a visit from my mom, and... the biggest downer -- further work complications -- I ended up calling my mom to come back and move me home (not being sure if the move was long-term or temporary but bringing everything home in our caravan just to play it safe).
So you think the trauma is bad enough? Just wait.
Jack was thankfully in his tank in the back when the car accident happened. It was 3am, and I was caravaning behind my mom on a barren highway in the middle of nowhere Illinois. (Okay, actually less than half an hour out of Rockford - thank God! - but all we could see were empty planes and super rare ramps to get off the freeway.)
I'm on my way home after two months of the worst stress I had ever been through -- a week in the psychiatric hospital (actually such a good experience), two weeks in a partial hospitalization program (also such a good experience - these are the things that made Nashville worth it), and the culmination of my worst mental breakdown ever -- thinking things couldn't get much worse. But wait...
I'm driving 5-10 mph under the speed limit with my mom's car far ahead of me, the only car in sight. Within the flash of an eye, shining eyes appear before my car, and BAM!!! (I hope the deer died on impact, because I'd hate for it to have suffered despite the fact that I wondered how the heck a deer could be so stupid as to cross a freeway on an empty highway at the one rare moment that a car was there.) I didn't see it coming. It was meters if not feet in front of my car when I first saw it, and that was it.
I felt my car dragging, so I pulled out. I was in tears, but the first thing I remember doing is turning to the back seat and seeing Jack's tank fully intact. "We're okay, Jack. We're okay," I said. Jack was the ONE thing that got me through that tragic moment while I waited for my mom to backtrack on the ramp-less freeway to come help (comforting him was the only thing that comforted me). I'd lost a headlight and the entire front of my car was dragging on the ground, but Jack and I were safe.
We got the car towed into Rockford and stayed at the most beautiful hotel - Holiday Inn - still such a special memory for me: the beautiful comfort of the rooms, the incredible and fancy breakfast "covered by insurance," and Jack in a box safely in our hotel room <-- Yes, that little box with holes in the top came in handy MORE than I could ever have imagined. It was a life saver! Imagine bringing a 1 x 4 ft tank into a hotel room - lol. We made it safely home to Minnesota.
One thing that brought me incredible joy was that Jack was as happy to be home as I was. He returned to his daily romps up and down the stairs, and I think that's what led him to live so long. I can't be grateful enough that these priceless years spent in this incredible way. (I'd be sad to picture him not getting that level of vitality for those years had I stayed in Nashville.)
~*~
Through more mental breakdowns and one more partial hospitalization that ended one week before COVID hitting the U.S. (thank God I could go home to him each evening), Jack was a light. He was the one thing that could calm me or bring me hope at some of my lowest moments. He was my little one to live for.
I was blessed through COVID to get so much more time with him between furlough and work-from-home (THAT was the most special part of work-from-home), and I'm glad I got to have that precious time with him: we would play scavenger hunts during lunch breaks.
As soon as Jack hit three years, I prepared myself on the daily knowing that each day could be his last. Every morning I would say goodbye to him before work knowing not to take for granted that he would be alive when I arrived home (despite his energy levels being far superior to that of a 2 month old). I prepped myself every day, and started recording videos of him (multiple times per week) doing some of his most special and unique things. I wanted to capture these clips of him being one of a kind, so that I would never have to lose the joy of witnessing these things and would never have to let him go completely.
AMAZINGLY, he survived another summer and then fall and all the way through Christmas, and NO day with him was taken for granted. Every day I would remind myself that this could be the last and to cherish every moment.
I always thought he would eventually die of old age. I never expected things to end in an accident, but THAT IS WHERE I HOLD ONTO JESUS the hardest.
Tragedy Hits * TRIGGER WARNING *
Some vivid descriptions. Feel free to skip and go to last section if you're worried.
February 5, 2022 - I made plans for us to celebrate Jack's 4th birthday (since he would have been 6-8 weeks old when we got him) and put it on the calendar. My mom and I went shopping for gifts for him that morning. I planned to make him a party hat, and we got him a #4 to top the schmatt cake. I filled his star wars cardboard spaceship with treats. We were ready to show him the glories we had prepared for him.
I reached into his tank to lure him into my hand, telling him to come and see. I was excited to show him the treat-decked spaceship I had ready for him and for him to then race up and down the stairs for a scavenger hunt, for him to see the chew flower Mom got for him and to let him run wild and free around the house to his favorite spots like he had the night before.
Jack crawled halfway into my hand. I waited. He walked around my hand and then crawled halfway in again. Sometimes I would wait for all 4 feet, but sometimes I would accept the 2 and pick him up. He would also clamp his back feet onto my hand and would be secure.
I don't know what happened differently this time. My guess is he may have never gotten to clamp his feet to my hand and fell from kicking his feet trying to secure himself. My hold on him was too light. He slipped backwards out of my hand and fell 3 feet to the ground.
I was mildly worried, since he had survived FAR WORSE falls where I was afraid he would sprain an ankle, but this time I looked down and saw his legs dangling behind him on the ground. That was unnatural. That had never happened before, and in that moment I knew he was injured. It took a few seconds to realize how badly.
I let out a gasp and picked him up off the ground. His legs dangled and did not go back into place. I tried to cradle them and put them back in position and he squeaked. I gently held him. THIS was the moment of realization of what a tragedy had just happened. Both legs were COMPLETELY broken. His pride and joy - his legs - which he had been hopping 6 inches in the air on over and over again in his tank the day prior to get my attention.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," I whimpered. My mom was the comforter saying maybe things would be okay. That we didn't know yet. He might get better. We put him on the ground to see if he could use his legs. He scurried around the house using ONLY his front legs --he's a STRONG boy-- and dragging his dangling feet behind him. He was remarkably fast though of course not quite as fast as with 4 legs.
We took him to the entry to show him his gifts. We moved all of treats to floor level so that he could get them. He ate some of them but not all of them (he had NEVER turned down a sunflower seed before in his life). He was full steam ahead. Sometimes independently and sometimes with a little assistance he pulled his body through some things. We adjusted things to meet his needs for space and a level surface.
My mom fixed his tank to single story things while I watched and helped him run around on his front two in the entry trying different things, getting stuck a few times, but accomplishing so much nevertheless (even pulling his body over a few things). When the tank was ready, we put him in there. t was sad to see that he couldn't itch his ears which he had always done with his hind legs (the cutest thing ever). I think that was one of his biggest discomforts, not being able to itch.
He pulled himself around, and we tried to help him make his bed, but he was resistant wishing he was still able to do it alone. He would try to kick the bedding back, but with only his front legs he couldn't do much. It was heartbreaking.
I stayed with him for the next 24+ hours, subbing out with my mom once to make the birthday schmatt. He refused water at all times; no matter how many ways we tried to offer it he would jerk his body away. He sometimes accepted sunflower seeds. I found he would eat them the most if they were hidden in his bedding right by him where he could hide and seek for them. It gave him some sense of mastery.
To the last, he experimented and tried doing EVERYTHING he could. His favorite activities in life were running and jumping all around the house, sunflower seeds scavenger hunts, chewing things, and sleeping. I was surprised to hear him chewing away that night.
He's a resilient little guy, but I knew things would never be the same for him without his legs (his most life-giving asset), so, as I had been doing for hours prior, I prepared to say goodbye.
As I fell asleep on the couch next to his tank, I would reach in and try to situation his feet properly every now and then, because I'd read online that if gerbils rested in the right position the bones might grow back and heel (though I never got my hopes too high considering the level of the fractures and his desire for constant movement). There were three times when I heard him chewing and then stop. I would always check up on him.
In the morning he was lying next to his cardboard, still breathing but lying pretty limp. The worst part was picking him up and realizing that it was now more than his legs that were limp, it was the whole back part of his body. The only parts of his body that were not yet limp were his head and arms. He was a little cold.
I carried him downstairs to tell my mom he was dying, so that I wouldn't have to go through this alone. I rested him on my chest for a while: partially to give him warmth but mostly because I needed that close contact with him. He was squirmy and didn't seem happy being held -- I think due to his lacking a sense of control -- so my mom took him off. In the process he bit her hard--a sign of his distress.
We stayed with him all morning, loving on him, covering him in bedding for warmth, putting food and water within reach. He rested and seemed to be peaceful. Having the power to do nothing more for him, I played him some songs of the piano including a few that I knew were his favorites (The Mickey Mouse March and Colors Of The Wind), then I went and had my breakdown.
The rest of the day consisted in napping by his tank and checking up on him -- with my mom also in the room. I recruited a friend to go to Mass with me that evening (Sunday), since I couldn't bear to go alone.
Mass was super healing. I cried a lot (something I never do in public; the mask is a nice... mask, to an extent), uniting myself with him and offering God Jack back in union with the sacrifice of the Mass <-- I've learned that at this point in the Mass those of us in the congregation are meant to unite our sufferings of the week with Christ.
I thought about the Miracle of Santa Maria, and it brought me comfort. Despite the fact that days before I found I could only look at images of the scourged heart skin for so long before getting nauseaus, it was SUCH a comfort to me at this Mass.
I knew I was received Jesus at HIS lowest (the Miracle of Santa Maria as visible proof of what I was actually receiving), and I knew that God was suffering everything I was suffering in that moment there with me along with all the other sufferings of the world.
Communion was such a comfort. It was the greatest moment of unity. Feeling our pain together. Uniting in our pain. I also thought about how God the Father had offered His Only Son for us, realizing that if it was this hard to give up by beloved gerbil, how great the Father's love and suffering had to be to offer us His Only Son.
Mass was unifying. On the ride there I talked with my friend about the accident and about what I was going through, and it was sooo comforting to talk about it with an understanding person amidst tears. After Mass, she agreed to go shopping with me so that I actually had food for the week.
I knew it was a good thing that I had work the next day. I would need the distraction and fulfillment, and thank God I had my favorite student for so much of the day: a student who constantly made me smile and rejoice and who touched my heart in ways similar to Jack. I also recalled how our students had gone through so many tragedies this year: some losing pets, some losing family members... I knew I was not alone, and I felt their pain with them.
When we arrived home, my friend asked how I was doing and how Mass had been. I told her about the Miracle of Santa Maria and uniting my suffering with Christs. I told her how healing it had been. Then we departed ways, and I returned to Jack (who always had Mom in the room).
He again looked peaceful. My greatest mourning was knowing he would never have the joy of jumping from tree limb to colosseum and racing around the house -- things that brough him SO MUCH joy. Thinking about his not getting any more of that joy was the biggest thing that would lead me to breakdown. I felt his pain and worried that when he would wake up from his naps he would have to re-experience that moment of knowing his body was half paralyzed. But...
He seemed very peaceful. We loved on him. He would rest and occasionally move his nose or twitch his ears. He lay in the bedding, and I checked his feet were in an okay position. We knew this was the end ... actually, I'm writing this in the moment.
I will be with him until dawn, and Mom will be home all day tomorrow for the chance that he makes it that long. I do not have to go through this alone. I have my support system: Mom, Stephanie, Jesus...
It's heartbreaking, but I know that God can bring any creature back in eternity. Even if they do not have immortal souls, God can bring back the exact same form with the exact same personality and even infuse the creature with the exact same memories. I only hope Jack will have a place as special an our town home to run in in heaven when we are reunited in our bodies in eternity. I really think God will bring all good things - all things that have not denied him - back to life: a new creation, a more perfect creation, a not-missing creation...
Jack was MY GREATEST GIFT, and I know we were THE GREATEST GIFT he every could have received. No gerbil has had a happier life. (It's mutual, little love. You are a complete GIFT from God, and I will thank Him for gifting and entrusting you to me every day of my life.)
A Beautiful, Peaceful, Healing Death
Jack died around 6:40pm on January 7th on my mom's chest wrapped -- in a soft blanket I had knitted him -- while I played and sang If I Die Young on the piano. I couldn't have asked for a more beautiful, peaceful death for him. He didn't even gasp. He went in peace surrounded by our love shown to him in every way possible.
How beautiful that we ever had something that could be so painful to let go of. ALL IS GIFT
LINK to the first song that came on the radio the day he died.
LINK to the first song that came on the radio the day after he died.
Video coming after I do more healing...
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