Yesterday, I buried a two week old with the seven little foster kids up the street. They were sobbing and crying while I was decorating a cardboard box to make a coffin for the little puppy. Tears rolling down their cheeks as I was digging the grave and putting the poor little puppy to rest taken way too early from its mommy.
The kids didnāt know about rainbow bridge nor did they know what a prayer is. So we prayed together and with each hand of dirt we threw into the grave we made a wish for a safe journey for the puppyās little soul.
I wish theyād let me help them when the puppy was still alive. I couldāve possibly saved the puppy. But the foster mom is very controlling, and it is a dubious house stuffed with little lonely boys and girls.
I cannot save then all but at least I can teach the kids kindness and how precious a little puppy soul is. I cannot sooth their pain nor could I save the puppy, but I could at least honor the puppy by giving him a proper funeral and allowing the kinds to express their love by writing on the cardboard coffin how much they loved āFluffy.ā
Life hurts. Life is painful. But at least they werenāt entirely alone with their pain and loss. And at least, the puppy got a proper memorial and tombstone the kids can come and visit.
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Tilt: Diary of a Virgin Stripper 