We Turned His Radio Back On

The day that Berto died felt ordinary, though it was a special day. It was my oldest son Lincoln’s birthday, and that was where my focus was, which makes sense. My son turned 22. I was cleaning the house. I was playing my gothy music and singing and dancing, and Berto was looking down at me, smiling from his cage on the second story of our Brooklyn loft. He had the best view in the house: the bird’s-eye view. He could observe everything happening from where he was. He loved to feel like an integral part of the household. In the warmer months, we put him up in my office by the big windows so that he could commune with nature and his local bird friends outside. He’s always enjoyed being by the window, watching the world, safely from his home. Berto came from an overpopulated cage where he was continuously in fights and became disabled. He had a back injury that slowed him down only a little, and his mate Taco, who came with him, had disfigured feet. They’ve been in my life for almost 18 years. His mate died in 2019, and that’s a loss I’ve felt since and a hole in my heart that can never be filled. Those boys have been through a lot with my family and me over the years.

‍

‍

They were with me when my second child was born. When I lost my stepson and then went through a separation from my daughter's dad. They were with me when I started over and when my first husband died. They were with me when my third child was born. They were with me when I became estranged from my family. They were with me when I moved from Portland, Oregon to Brooklyn, New York. They were with me during the start of the pandemic, and then Taco died. My heart broke into a million pieces and when I went home empty-handed…Berto bit me for the first time ever. I understand, though. He just wanted his mate to come back home from the doctor, too. 

The one thing that stands out now about the day Berto died is that he was quieter than he normally is. I asked my daughter to put him to bed in the evening (cover his cage with his leopard blanket and turn down his jazz music) and my daughter said he was already sleeping on the cage floor. I looked at her and I knew immediately what had happened. I went up to see him, and there he was: peacefully passed and still fluffy, sitting at the edge of his cage. He looked so handsome and peaceful. My heart was broken. We all sat downstairs and cried, holding him, giving him kisses and talking to him. We decorated a box for him to be transported to the next place, and surrounded him with roses and rosemary. It was really hard.

‍

‍

I am so lucky to have worked in such a loving water cremation facility previously, and continue to both take my own pets there and refer others. I knew he would be safe and handled with love there, and I knew that they would return his beautiful little bones to me so that I could join them into the ossuary I’ve created for my other birds. But it’s that wait that’s always so difficult, the one before they can come home.

I remember one morning while I was getting ready and styling my hair, I became so annoyed that I decided I was going to shave it off. I needed to release the pain that my hair was carrying from all the traumatic events in the years before. The weight was just too much and I knew it was time to let go and start over. Did that mean that I would be healed after? No. It never has. I’ve shaved my head many times before after something traumatic occurred, and it’s always been my way of reclaiming my power and moving forward with more love than sadness. Sadness is still there, yes, but I can move more easily without that which does not serve me any longer. And what’s more, I was going to gift this hair as a present to La Santa Muerte. I would trust in her to help me heal and continue to help others with grief, too. 

After I shaved my head, and after I got my sweet Berto back home…I really felt called to look back on our home cameras and figure out what time he had passed. I did find out the time; he died around 6 pm. I also found another unexpected gift: my white cat Cotty had laid down with him for at least two hours while he was dying. She did not leave his side. She stayed with him until he had passed, and while we did not know he was dying and could not comfort him: she did. She was his death doula. I felt at peace knowing he was not alone, and that my sweet girl had been his Psychopomp til the very end.

‍

‍

We were all struggling with the absence of Berto perched up in the loft. I am so used to walking by and singing songs to him (I still do.) We were so used to hearing him sing and yell and hiss (his cat sister Bamboo was always trying to ruffle his feathers). He was famously a part of Zoom calls and classes, and got the most talkative on my husband’s weekly SNL Zooms. Anyone who has ever been on the other end of any of those calls knows Berto yelling and singing very well. We decided to create an altar for him in the space of his loft, and to turn his radio back on while we got used to the silence. It helped us so much finding a nice photo of him and his favorite things to add to the altar. An apple, some seeds, some water, a prayer candle, his favorite mirror (he did love his reflection) and two Lego roses that my then nine-year-old added. Over the summer, we moved his altar space to the communal one with his mate and added his bones to the ossuary. He’s been there since. 

Losing a beloved pet is so difficult. I understand that so much, both as a griever and a death doula for humans and pets. What makes a difference is how we allow ourselves to make space for grief and healing. We need to remember to show up for ourselves the way we showed up for them: with unconditional love.

‍

‍

Lauren Seeley is a Death & Grief Doula and a Creative Grief Workshop facilitator in the NYC area. She works with both animals and humans in the end-of-life and funeral space and is a death educator as well as a spiritual practitioner using creativity, art, ritual, ceremony, and Reiki as forms of healing in bereavement and loss. She is the facilitator of two mortality-based book clubs in NYC: Silent Book Club of Death NYC and Ahhsweetdeath Book Club, as well as head of NYC chapter of Bibliophiles Research Center. She partners with historical institutions such as The Met Cloisters, Green-Wood Cemetery, and Morbid Anatomy for her events.