Today’s prompt: “You come across a child sitting and crying over their pet that has passed away. What do you say to them?”
Today’s music: Fallen Souls by Dosi. 🎧 Listen on SoundCloud.
A Quiet Moment
They say that hell is other people’s kids, but I think that’s not quite right. Hell is being a kid without the words or skills to know what’s happening or how to describe how you feel. And then, you know what? It kind of gets worse from there: as an adult, you don’t know what’s happening either, but you have the realisation you should.
I didn’t know what was happening in Hearthlight, but as I rounded a corner I realised I knew even less than before. See, I saw a kid, maybe ten or so. She was sitting on the front steps of her house. Or I guessed it was her house, because you’re unlikely to cry on a stranger’s doorstep. She was clutching something. I thought Hearthlight was the kind of town where only the good things happened, where the place took what was wrong with you away. But here was a kid, and all the bad things had happened to her.
I could have walked away. She hadn’t seen me. Maybe no one had. But I’d been that kid. You know what I’m talking about: everything’s hard. You don’t know which way is up or how to get there. I’d been in top-tier boardrooms, stared down enraged investors, and been punted across social media by the angry. But sitting next to a kid at rock bottom was a whole new tier of challenge.
Get in there, Richard.
I walked toward her and, so as not to frighten her, called to her from the end of her path. “Hi. I’m Richard. I can see you’re sad. Do you mind if I join you?”
She just kind of shrugged through the rain of tears. It wasn’t a denial, so I unlatched the gate and walked to the front steps. I perched one step down from her on the porch. I could see she held a collar. Small, about the size for a cat, and inset with faux diamonds. A nametag hung from it.
The girl didn’t look at me. She didn’t speak, but I was able to put two and two together. An empty collar means lost pet, and a lost pet means sadness. Whoever owned that collar wasn’t coming back. I looked down the path, and wondered where her parents were. Maybe they were just as bereft. Perhaps they thought their kid was upstairs. Hell if I knew, but I’d lost pets. I knew the feeling. I sighed. “Did you lose your cat?” She nodded. “Did they have a name?”
The girl didn’t speak, but after a moment hesitantly held the collar toward me. The nametag glittered. The name embossed on it was Socks. I pictured a cat with white paws, someone that loved a lap or a place in the sun. “I’m sorry this happened,” I started. Get it together. “I can see you’re sad. I lost my cat. It wasn’t recently, but I still remember him.” I gazed down the path. “But I still feel him in here.” I touched my chest. “And I think that’s good. We’re not supposed to forget them. They make our lives so much better. It hurts now, but it will get better. This moment will fade, and all the other times will come forward. You’ll remember Socks playing, or how your cat lay in sunbeams. But there’s one thing they never tell you, and it’s really important. Do you know what it is?”
I risked a sideways look at her. She in turn had risked a sideways peek at me. She shook her head, so I continued. “Every moment of their lives spent with us is good. The pats we give them, the safety of a home. How our houses are dry on the inside, and we give cuddles when there’s a thunderstorm. Socks might be gone, but while they were here, they had the best life. And you gave that to them.”
She nodded just once, but wasn’t ready to give up the tears. And you know what? Fair enough. It wouldn’t honour Socks if it was that easy to say goodbye. Letting go was supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t, it meant there was something wrong right at the heart of you. I stood, and ambled back down the path.
Maybe I’d see her again. Maybe not. But I hoped when she saw Socks in her memory, she wouldn’t remember today. She’d remember white, playful feet, and how her cat lay in the sun.
Roll result? One brave kid, one empty collar, and a few words that maybe made it a little less heavy.
XP gained: 1 memory honoured, 1 connection made without words, and +1 to kindness when the right words are hard to find.
Ready for Day 19?
You’ve made it through 18 days in Hearthlight with me. If you’ve been reading along, thank you. It’s been quieter and more healing than I expected.
If Hearthlight has offered you a breath of peace, or a pause in the noise, and you’d like to say thanks in return, I’ve got a little Ko-fi jar out.
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