Freyr Eustace Nyffennegar, May 1992-January 2003. He lived a LONG life for a rabbit. But as lives do, his ended. This is the story of the moments of his end. I remark on them because they were remarkable to me. He was remarkable to me. Freyr was a unique being of the sort we all hope we will be blessed but once in our lives.
I was driving home from the veterinarian, having left him unconcious but awaiting the killing needle to his heart. About halfway home I suddenly KNEW he was with me. My car had been empty, and then it was not. In my mind I could see him dancing and hear him communicating with me. He did awesome rabbit ghost flips and dashes, turns and rabbit arabesques in the air around my car, sat beside me on the chair at times, other times raced beside it. He told me how wonderful he felt, how delightful it was to be free to move again after all that dark pain he'd been in. We both agreed that it was a delight to be together again and he said he'd meet me at home. I drove home smiling and crying both. I felt so comforted to know he was around, existed beyond the pain wracked and cancer destroyed flesh we'd left behind. Oh but he was still beautiful when I left him there. In all the hell he suffered his fur stayed glossy and his ears straight and clean, his eyes clear and bright.
When I arrived home he was there, revelling in the ability to dance in the air, not feel cold, not have to leave me behind crying. I told him he was a ghost. He said he didnt' mind, that it seemed a wonderful thing. I said to him that he was free, released, no longer bound to me. That the ghosting only seemed wonderful compared to the hell of his dying body. I showed him my puppy who was wiggling and dancing at my feet, reminded him of the warmth of living which he could no longer enjoy. I sent him impressions of baby rabbit suckling on momma's belly with the other kittens and reminded him of the joy of being alive. Warm and snuggly and furry and feeling the earth and the wind and the sky. Told him there, in the garden, how ghosts had no heart to really love. He said he still had his knowing of loving me. I said that it would fade leaving him not knowing why he was there. That he had to go, it was time, it was over. That I didn't like it but I knew he had to go, that it was necessary.
I told him to look for a bright light, a tunnel or door or gateway. He said he saw it. I looked with him, saw through his knowing, a great bright room past an entry way, a room lit with the radiance of billions of souls. Warm and innocent and loving souls, all believing in the best in Life. All milling about looking for the right places to go next. Like a great shoe wardrobe full of golden shelves each holding a soul's desination. He asked, did he really have to go there? I told him, no, not right away, he could stay if he liked. He could help me pick out the new rabbits tomorrow who would take his place in my home and enjoy the comforts I had to offer. His jealousy reared and he said that he couldn't bear to see that. He knew I had to do it but didn't want to see so he wanted me to sing to him one more time. To sing him through the gateway, at sunset.
I had a difficult time finding my voice, crying ruins your singing. I had been crying all the time we talked because I do cry so easily. I tried first singing the song I always sing for a dead pet, “Bright Eyes” from the movie Watership Downs. It seemed so appropriate for a rabbit! It was not. If only because his eyes never went pale. He went to sleep is all. I felt it under my hands as I stroked him and he went under. He then told me that the song he wanted me to sing was “The stolen Child” by Yeats set to music by Loreena Mckennit, a spectacularily beautiful song I sing very nicely. It was SO appropriate. As the sun set I sang and I “saw” my companion sprite lead him off into the setting sun, guide him along his way. “For he comes the [rabbit] child, to the waters and the wild, with a fairy hand in hand, for the world's more full of weeping, than he can understand.”
I knew too when he was gone. I saw his tiny tail receding into the west, felt when he was gone. He is gone now but I know too that he can still look in on me and does and that he's out there, just not here anymore.