Remembering Ivy
Whenever Ivy heard a noise that might be related to food, she perked up.
It could be the fridge door opening, or the crinkle of packaging, or even the sound of tablets rattling in a vitamin bottle.
She would pop out of her enclosure, ears alert, nose pointed upward to detect the scent of appetizing food, eyes eager for some confirmation of her suspicion, teeth chattering excitedly.
These would also be accompanied by the classic guinea pig sounds of anticipation: a hopeful "brweep! brweep! beweep!" and the metallic drumming sound of teeth gnawing on the bars of her enclosure.
Now that she's gone, I catch myself hearing such phantom sounds with the same hopeful anticipation.
Maybe when I open the fridge door, a small noise in the plumbing resembles a couple nibbles on the metal enclosure that is no longer there.
Or the soft squeak of a fingernail grazing the laundry basket sounds like her hopeful, inquisitive voice.
A rustle from the squirrels outside the window sound like her skidding up the ramp in her enclosure to see what's going on.
When I mistake these sounds, I feel my own human version of her excited responses. I stop in my tracks, I perk up, I crane my neck to see what she's interested in, and listen for more of that sound.
For a moment the impossible is real, she is just in the other room, waiting impatiently for me to deliver a snack to her. As I did many times a day for years. So routine at the time.
Only then do I remember that she is no longer here, and my excitement is in vain.
The enclosure has been dismantled and packed away. The fridge empty of any vegetables that might have tempted her. Our furniture rearranged to fill the empty space left by her home.
Instead, a painting of her where her home used to be, with a flickering candle and a box of ashes.
The space is unrecognizable, fitting for how little we recognize our lives without her.
But no amount of rearranging to fill the physical holes she has left can fill the holes we feel in our hearts.
And in that way, in her heavy absence, we carry her with us. We feel her importance in our inability to accept that she is truly gone.
I feel her spirit in the flickering candle flame reflected in her portrait.
Details of Archie and Ivy portrait can be seen here: pet portraits
