A Beloved Attendant

I continue to feel untethered by my loss earlier this spring of my parrot Peep.

Months later I am unmotivated, slow moving, lacking a creative spark, clumsy in my social interactions, deeply frustrated by small setbacks, and often surprised by my own emotional volatility. While I am sometimes embarrassed by how deeply I have felt this loss, it also feels proportional to the depth of my love for this tiny, delicate creature and the bond we forged for almost a decade.

Maybe you’ve seen some version of this video circulating on the internet in the last few months. Usually this text overlays videos of an adorable pet:

“In Hawaiian, you don’t call yourself your pet’s ‘owner.’ You are their kahu. Kahu has many meanings, among them guardian, protector, steward, beloved attendant. Basically someone entrusted with the safekeeping of something precious, something cherished. What a kahu protects is not their property. What a kahu protects is part of their soul.”

This is the way it felt with Peep. Parrots are not domesticated, bred over thousands of years to live with people, in the same way dogs and cats are. Their social, nutritional, and exercise needs can be very difficult to meet, especially in an urban apartment setting and working an oftentimes more than full time job. But what ever was happening in my world, his need for connection and play and Turkish figs I could only find in the dry goods section at Sprouts superseded all of the ways I was usually drawn towards selfishness. That meant sacrificing a spotless house in favor of him being able to free roam and fly as much as he desired. Or driving an hour each way to Palos Verdes to board him with his avian vet before any travel I did. Or spending afternoons inventing new ways to rearrange his perches, hanging toys, and seed dishes in his cages to keep him mentally stimulated when I was working. Or sharing any sip of water or crunch of Rice Krispies I had with him first.

Now that he’s gone, and I have started to adapt to life without him, this role of beloved attendant that I grew into as I grew up feels so empty. Maybe I will get another parrot, or another pet, in time. For now I’m still moving through this grief, slowly and unwillingly, of Peep himself and my guardianship of him.

I don’t have anything brilliant to say about it, just that it sucks and I have found no meaning in the process or almost anything at all lately. The only slightly shiny spot I have discovered is that when I look out at people in the world, I can now recognize the slackened, blank look of grief behind another’s eyes. It has made me more patient, more empathetic, to the story of the grief that surrounds us all.