Isabel
February 28, 2001-May 1, 2011
We often joked that Isabel had the longest chart in the history of Animal Kingdom Veterinary Hospital. From one of our first appointments in 2001 for bumps on her belly (um, teats, duh!) to her surgery for a bladder stone that would have brought down large dogs, we were told, Isabel had to be one of the most poked and prodded bunnies in their care.
But, it was one final piece of paper that we received from Animal Kingdom that contains an image that will forever be etched in my mind. Dated May 1, 2011, it simply says, “Cremation Private. $146.”
For that is the day our sweet, little Netherland Dwarf passed away on our bed, while Aimee stroked her grey fur with a final, loving touch. We will bring her back home sometime soon, and I have vowed that she will stay with us forever, no matter where we live.
Something else on that receipt burns in my mind. It reads: “Patient ID: 6287-1” — like some kind of prisoner number. In some respects, Isabel has been freed from her prison, an often tough life that we didn’t think would reach three years, much less 10. We are comforted that we gave Isabel everything — from a cage that is bigger square-footage-wise for a 2-pound rabbit than for a family of four in our own house, to more chocolate and treats than most pets should have.
But, Isabel just wasn’t the same during the last year, fighting an infection, overgrown teeth that required monthly trimming and, finally, something that told her body it was time to give up. Part of us wants to know what ultimately took her life, but we just knew it was time. She had rallied so many times in her life with us, but we knew this was it. And it hurts tremendously.
But, understand this: Isabel was a fighter, even as she fought for those final breaths, finally giving up and going to be with her Mommy, and probably some of her brothers, at high noon. It was exactly one week to Mother’s Day, and it will be a tough week for me and Aimee as we celebrate the life of our first baby — our “daughter.”
I always made it a point to get Aimee a Mother’s Day card from Isabel. I don’t know what I can do this year that will make her feel that she was the best possible Mommy to Isabel. We agreed that the best thing Aimee could do for Isabel was just hold her in that final hour and let her know it was OK to go. She didn’t need to fight for us anymore.
I have struggled mightily with my feelings since Sunday. On one hand, I know there are people and families dealing with much, much greater tragedies than we are. They have lost parents, have sick children, are facing foreclosures, or wondering daily how they are going to put food on the table. I get that, and I am somewhat embarrassed that this is our little cross to bear right now.
But, Isabel was different. After we got married in 2000, she was our first true responsibility. Aimee said she always wanted a little, grey bunny. So, off we went in search of our first pet. People that know me well know that I never make quick decisions. I overthink, research and change my mind multiple times on even the simplest things. But, as we sat in the rabbitry in Colon, Michigan, on April 1, 2001, they finally pulled a little grey bunny from the cage and she snuggled on Aimee’s chest.
Without hesitation, I said, “We’ll take her.” The owner of the rabbitry asked for $15. I paid $20 and, had I known then what joy she would bring to our lives, no price would have been too steep. We had no cage, no food, nothing but a cardboard box to bring her home in. And, as she slid around in that box on the drive back to Ann Arbor, we fell in love with that little girl.
At times, we struggled with the fact that we took Isabel from her Mommy and brothers on that spring day, and that we had her spayed and she would never have babies. We even wondered what it would have been like for Isabel to have a friend in her rabbit “condo.” Was she lonely while we were at work? Would she have liked a friend to snuggle and play with? Was she happy? Her vet told us many times during her life, especially late, that pets will let you know if they are not happy, or if they are ready to go. I will always believe that Isabel was happy until her dying day.
Isabel’s life changed dramatically when we brought Harmon home from the hospital in 2005. We knew we had the love in our hearts for a pet and a new baby. And, even when Simon was born in 2008, Isabel was always part of our family. But, things were different now, and we can’t help but feel guilty about the last five years of her life. Did we give enough?
Last night, as we watched videos and looked at old photos of Isabel laying by the fireplace, jumping up on the couch to get a dried cherry, “hiding” under the Christmas tree, and dropping pellets all over the place, we laughed and cried and recalled the good times. I want to write about all of them, and will, because although the boys knew her, and often played with her, I am not sure they will ever realize just what Isabel meant to our lives.
But, right now, I want to be sad and grieve. That can be hard to do with boys, ages 2 and 5, at your feet, but I want Isabel to know that her passing hurts greatly and that we know she is looking down on us, rabbit-dancing in heaven. Her teeth don’t hurt anymore, the infection is gone, and she can lie around in the sun all day.
Looking for a quiet moment, I went home at lunchtime on Monday. I thought for sure that her cage would be right where it has been since the day we moved into our house, and that Isabel would be in a little ball in her familiar spot on the fourth floor. But, the cage is gone from the house, and the hole left in the spot (unfortunately, it also is marked by urine stains on the hardwood floor!), is bigger than anything except the hole that her passing has left in our hearts and in our lives.
Isabel is happy and healthy now, and we cling to that. Maybe we are selfish for wanting her to still be here. But, we got to say goodbye to her on our own terms. And the last thing she saw was the “parents” who loved her so much letting her know it was OK to go. I have lost people close to me, like all of us have, but until Sunday I had never seen a person or pet pass away before my eyes. It is chilling, but also very peaceful.
To you, Isabel, you had many nicknames during your time with us: Belly, Izzy, Morphage, Pelt, Grey Girl, Stinkmonster General (don’t ask). But no matter what we called you, you were our first love and your passing has left a void in our family that I always told people was a family of 5!
We miss you, Isabel. Rest in peace.
