I Loved Her Deeply—So Why Don’t I Feel the Pain?

After the passing of my beloved rattie Rosie, I have been surprised to feel… Nothing. 

Am I mourning wrong? 

How Can Someone Go From Fine to Dying in Hours?

Rosie has passed away suddenly. She was completely okay in the morning, keeping me company while I was having breakfast and plucking yogurt from my finger. That morning, I was feeling horrible, and petting her helped me to feel better. I was so grateful to her for it. Even on the day she died, she had saved me. 

In the afternoon, she was running around the living room during free roam, and as I picked her up, I noticed she was breathing heavily with her mouth open. I went to the vet straight away, but I still didn’t realize how serious it was. 

The vet gave her antibiotics, anti-inflammatory and an infusion straight away. And he warned me she might not make it during the night. I could not believe it. How could she go from a happy and healthy rat to possibly dying in the span of several hours? I think I was in shock, because I wasn’t able to feel anything upon hearing that news. 

The Moment I Knew Something Was Terribly Wrong

I went to visit my friend who lives close to the vet because I didn’t want to be alone with that news. We put a hot water bottle next to Rosie because the vet said to keep her warm. He also said to come back if she starts breathing with her mouth open again. And exactly that happened after two hours. She started to choke, wasn’t able to breathe, and was panicking, running around, trying to escape the lack of breath. 

My friend’s boyfriend loaded Rosie and me in the car and drove me to the vet as quickly as he could. I banged at the door and barged inside, crying that Rosie can’t breathe. They put her on oxygen right away and told me that they would give me a call when it’s time to pick her up. 

Waiting for a Call I Was Afraid to Get

I went back to my friend’s place, and I was waiting. And waiting. The call wasn’t coming, and I was afraid it was a bad sign. Finally, after two hours, my phone rang. Into the car I went again, and my friend’s boyfriend drove me to the vet. 

And there I saw Rosie. She was lying on her side, unable to get up. She was in a much worse state than when I had dropped her off. When I saw her, I finally realized she was dying. I was watching her, waiting for the doctor to come, talking to her, soothing her. I promised her I would let her go rather than let her suffer. 

Taking Her Home for the Last Time

The doctor said he could keep her in the oxygen tank overnight, but seeing that it didn’t help her, maybe it would be better if she spent the night at home, where she knows it and can have peace. He offered to put her to sleep right away if I didn’t want to watch over her during the night, and I asked if she was suffering, and he said she wasn’t. And he said she has a very small chance of surviving, and if we put her to sleep, we would rob her of that chance. So, of course, I have opted to take her home. 

I decided to stop by my friend’s place first, to let her say goodbye to Rosie. This friend was the one who took the rats in when I got them, helping me to tame them because I didn’t know how to do it. She had a bond with my first three girls, and I thought she would like to see Rosie for the last time. 

I went inside with Rosie in my hands, but as soon as I sat with her on the couch, she stopped breathing. She had taken her last breath in my arms. 

She Chose Not to Leave Me Alone

Even in death, she was looking out for me. She chose such a time when I wasn’t alone, but surrounded by friends who could comfort me. She didn’t go at night when I would be alone and sleep deprived. She decided to go before that could happen. 

And I cried that evening, while my friend was hugging me, I cried so much. I screamed into the pillow, and I cried some more. 

I went home exhausted. I put Rosie’s body in the girls’ cage so that they could say goodbye and know what happened to their friend. They all sniffed her, and Zinny actually tried to resuscitate her. She licked her snout, trying to let her breathe. Then I went to sleep. 

The Day After Everything Changed

The day after, I felt miserable, but the pain was dull. I spent the day at my friend’s place so that I wouldn’t be alone. 

The next day, I was alone, and the pain came in full force. I missed my girl. I missed her so much. I wasn’t able to put her body in the freezer, to keep her until I could bury her in my father’s garden, until that day. In the end, I sat with her in the sun on the balcony, and I talked to her for a long time. Then, finally, it was time to let her go. 

And Then… Nothing

And the day after that, I woke up expecting pain. When my beloved Daisy had died, I felt sharp pain for a whole week. It ended only after I started to write about her. But, to my great surprise, I felt nothing. And the day after that, it was the same. And the day after that. 

Loving Her Through the Ones Who Stayed

I focused on my other girls a lot. I felt my love for Rosie through them. I think she lives on through them. I cuddled them and fed them treats. I considered getting another lab rescue, not as Rosie’s replacement, but as Rosie’s legacy, but I felt it was too soon to bring in a new friend. I had therapy and talked about her, and I didn’t feel sadness. I felt joy. It was deeply confusing. 

Feeling Joy Where I Expected Pain

I think that I would prefer to feel pain, because then I would feel connected with Rosie through it. But isn’t it better to feel joy about a life well lived? Rosie was scheduled to be put to sleep in the lab after just a half year of life, and instead, she had run all over my place, eaten treats, and enjoyed time with her sisters for two whole years. Isn’t that a reason for joy? 

The Guilt of Being Okay

But I’m afraid that by not feeling pain, I’m betraying Rosie somehow. Like I didn’t love her enough. Like I was able to move on too soon. Like she didn’t matter to me a lot. 

But she did. She was my tiny love, my faithful friend. She was a big part of my life. So why does my life go on as if nothing happened? 

The Love That Stays

Maybe grief is not always pain. Maybe sometimes grief changes shape.

Maybe with Rosie, the sharpness simply turned into warmth sooner than I expected. Into gratitude. Into the softness of cuddling the girls she left behind. Into the joy of knowing that a rat who was meant to die in a lab after six months got two full years of love, safety, cuddles, treats, and freedom.

Maybe this is grief, too.

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