On the Passing of Wayne

The vet euthanized one of Tara’s turtles last night.

His name was Wayne. He was small and starving. His shell had become as thin as paper in his last moments. I cried a lot. It seems silly to cry so hard over such a small creature, but the loss of any life is a loss for all Life. Perhaps it was his infancy that struck me: that Wayne had no decent shot at outliving us as most turtles should — born full of parasites, he had no shot. He just… he just didn’t have a decent shot at living. He was named after a character in Brandon Sanderson’s novels, his brother’s name is Wax. Like the moon: Wax and Wayne. Wax is basking in the sunlight behind me, oblivious to his brother’s waning, his brother’s passing.

After the last two years, I am now one well-acquainted with death.

I’m writing a story about Wayne and death and outliving the ones you love. It’s the only tribute I can offer.

Rest in peace, baby turtle.

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