Goodbye, Smokey

Last night, our family cockatiel, Smokey, died after living for almost 22 years. 22 years! We got him when I was 6 years old, so it's hard to remember what live was like without him. He lived with my parents, then with my sister, and she's had him for about 9 years. It's hit her the hardest because she's been so used to his squawking, cleaning his water dish every day... my 2 1/2 year old nephew Benjamin has gotten accustomed to waking up each morning, walking downstairs, and saying "Hi Mokey" (no "S") and loved to use the Dustbuster to clean up his seeds that he threw out on the ground.

When I was talking to my sister and she told me what happened, I didn't cry. I just listened to her through tearful sobs and reminded her how amazing it was he lived for so long. With her two children, it was pretty incredible that Smokey died when he did. It wasn't overnight alone, it wasn't when the kids were awake to witness it; it was during the small window of time after Benjamin was asleep and his sister didn't need a feeding and before my sister and her husband went to sleep. They were holding him, comforting him and petting him when he took his final breath.

I hung up the phone, then the tears started. I cried, felt better - then at midnight, after Dave was asleep and tv was extremely boring, I was alone with my thoughts and lost it again. As lucky as it sounds, Smokey is the first close 'being' to me that has died where I can feel the pain of death. I lost both of my grandfathers but was too young to fully understand it. We taught him to say "Pretty bird" and one of my grandfathers taught him his unique whistle pattern (a whistle my grandfather and my mom used all the time - my mom in particular - to locate me in a store and I'd have to shout "here I am!" as a little girl). Smokey also knew how to kiss - you just had to put your lips near his face and make a kissing sound, and he'd kiss back every time. We'd take him out of his cage using the wooden stick of a plunger as a make-shift perch, and sometimes he'd huff and peck when he sat on top of his cage and didn't want to come down. You could always pet him, get him to whistle, and he was a healthy bird every second of his life until he left last night.

Goodbye Smokey. I love you and will miss you.