Above in Heaven or Below in the Mud? A Story of Childhood Bereavement

Published in 'Rabbiting On' magazine, Spring 2012

 

When our houserabbit of nearly ten years passed away in July 2011, we had to address our own grief as well as the bereavement of our children, aged 9, 5 and 3 at the time (hereafter Baby Servant 1, Baby Servant 2, Baby Servant 3). Neroli was like a big sister to them, adopted a few months before the birth of our first child. How would they respond, how would we handle it, and would they remember her?

Preparing for bereavement

Neroli’s slow decline (limb weakness then paralysis from spondylosis) allowed us to prepare for her death. For weeks, we feared every day would be her last. The children said a special goodnight to her every evening – Baby Servant 1 went to see her at 3am one night because he’d forgotten. We discussed her death, mentioning that Neroli may have to be put to sleep (and what that involved) if she began to suffer. We explained that she’d lived a long and happy life, that there would be no miraculous recovery, and promised them that yes, we would have more bunnies. We couldn’t bear to think of it, let alone talk about it, but had to for their sake. 

A message crafted from newspaper, by our eldest, 
during some time spent sitting with Nelly:
"Carrots are cool – I luv em"

Just stopped working

My 3 year old daughter was by my side when Neroli died peacefully in my arms that morning. As our dear bunny was fading, I was already preparing to explain it to her. I told her to give Neroli a kiss on her head as she was dying. She showed no emotion, preferring to watch her television programme – I will always remember they were singing ‘You are my sunshine’. Through my own tears, I showed her how we needed to lay Neroli in a beautiful box, and asked her to choose one of my grandmother’s hand-embroidered cloths as a cover. I repeated that Neroli had died now, and was horrified when she asked, “Because you put her in a box?”. Again, I explained that Neroli had stopped working and died.

I recalled the importance of not telling a child that an animal has “gone to sleep”. They may expect it to wake up, or may even be scared of going to sleep themselves in case they never wake. When I tried telling Baby Servant 3 that Neroli had “gone to Heaven”, she just looked puzzled then told me, “No, Nelly’s in the box”. Children require the blunt language from which, as adults, we shy away. 

We placed the box in a quiet room, in case my husband and two boys wanted to see her for a last time when they returned home. 

We had decided to plant a fruit tree on Neroli’s grave, so Baby Servant 3 and I went to the garden centre that morning, where she chose a plum tree (Neroli’s favourite fruit).

Breaking the news

I couldn’t risk waiting until we were home to tell the boys, in case they rushed in to see Neroli, or Baby Servant 3 told them first. Equally, I didn’t want to upset them outside school, or on the walk home. So, I drove to collect them, and told them in the privacy of the car that I had some sad news, that Neroli had died peacefully that morning. 

Baby Servant 2 (5) had become very close to Neroli in her last weeks – he was able to approach her confidently, without fear of her usual boxing, and became very adept at tempting her to eat. He displayed no emotions but said he wanted to see her body. I asked Baby Servant 3 to tell them what we’d bought at the garden centre that morning, he guessed “A new rabbit?” and was quite disappointed it was a plum tree! 

Baby Servant 1 (9) listened quietly, but back home was inconsolable. He noticed the lack of bunny smell in the house, rather than the empty cage (she hadn’t used her usual bedding or tray for several weeks).

The burial

Baby Servant 2 wanted to see Neroli’s body as soon as we were home, and he gazed in quiet fascination. Baby Servant 1 struggled in deciding whether to see her, but I encouraged him to see (but not to touch) and he agreed she looked peaceful in her beautiful box. 

My husband and I buried Neroli together that afternoon, with the children helping to position and water the tree. We chose to avoid a ceremony and instead to focus on that little tree.

The days after

Baby Servant 1 occasionally came downstairs in tears after bedtime. I cuddled him and told him the pain would lessen with time, and the memories would bring smiles instead of tears. I warned him that it would be worse in the evenings, and that in the morning he’d wake refreshed for a moment then remember our loss. I showed him a condolence card and an online candle, both from our good friends at RWAF, to demonstrate that others shared our sadness. He also found comfort in the poem, ‘Do not stand at my grave and weep’. 

I asked each of my children to choose a favourite photo of Neroli for their bedsides. They decorated plain wooden picture frames, mostly with hearts and their own pictures of her. 

Baby Servant 2 and 3’s matter-of-fact approach was upsetting to Baby Servant 1. They said they missed Neroli, but shed no tears and chatted happily about her. One morning Baby Servant 2 said he had a nice toast crust that Neroli would have liked, Baby Servant 3 said it’s a shame we don’t have her anymore, that now she is in the mud. Baby Servant 2 agreed but said that actually she’s in ‘Bunny Heaven’, Baby Servant 3 argued back, and Baby Servant 2 tried to explain that “her thinking bit” is in Heaven and her body is in the mud. As time went by, Baby Servant 1 and I could smile as we listened to them trying to reason. 

Another day, Baby Servant 2 told me, "I know what we should call the tree!" and I thought he was going to say something beautiful, but instead he said, "The tree of death!". I'm sure I should've been horrified, but instead it somehow made light of the situation, and I just told him he was a horrid boy and we both laughed. He asked when her body would turn to compost to make the tree grow. Baby Servant 3, who obviously still struggled to imagine Neroli ‘not working’, asked if it would be dark underground. Baby Servant 1 believed Neroli was near every time he felt a breeze. 

They still include Neroli in the family. Recently, Baby Servant 2 made a little pretend school register, writing names of all the family including Neroli. Beside each box was a little square with a tick in, except for Neroli where there was a cross.

New bunnies

Due to an opportunity which arose, we adopted new rabbits sooner than planned, sooner than we thought we had room in our hearts for another rabbit. The children are besotted with them, but know that they are not – and were never intended as – a replacement for Neroli. They fill that horrible gap in the routine, and provide mischief to occupy our minds, but Baby Servant 2 still says ‘Nelly poo’ if he finds a Mabel or Dijon dropping on the floor!

Not forgotten

We talk frequently about Neroli, and on 23rd December, the 10th anniversary of her coming into our home, we watched our Neroli DVDs together. They realised that Neroli was a huge part of their early years – they each made their first crawl towards her! They saw Neroli as a baby bunny, being as mischievous as Mabel and Dijon. 

As a mother, their bereavement has shown that I cannot solve all my children’s problems. Baby Servant 2 wrote a letter to Father Christmas on Christmas Eve, asking if he could please have Mabel, Dijon, AND Neroli. 

Seven months after Neroli passed away, Baby Servant 2 drew a picture of Mabel, Dijon, and Neroli. It was Neroli who dominated his picture. It was Neroli for whom Baby Servant 1 was crying and unable to sleep last week, and little Baby Servant 3 still says “thank you Nelly for looking after me” at bedtime. It is comforting to know that Neroli is still in their hearts. Hopefully we will be able to enjoy some plums from our tree this year – from Neroli, either gifts from Bunny Heaven, or grown from her composted body, depending on age-related perspective! 

This is an account of our experience of child bereavement. It shows how a child’s response varies with age, from a lack of understanding for our 3 year old, to curiosity from our 5 year old, to a reaction reflecting an adult approach from our 9 year old. We couldn’t have wished for a more ideal, peaceful way for Neroli to pass away. Our children were prepared for Neroli’s death, but child bereavement would be very different if a pet had to be put to sleep, died suddenly, or was fatally injured. 

There are many online resources to help parents cope with child bereavement.