Dear Beloved

Turning the Ordinary into Ceremony

My Tuesday started out just like any other, with me looking forward to my weekly coffee visit with MG, who stops by on her way to work. Our “chat” usually involves scrolling through her TikTok feed and sharing funny videos of small animals and babies she knows will make me laugh.

But this Tuesday was different. The rhythm broke, as rhythms sometimes do, with sad news.

Tea, one of MG’s two guinea pigs, had died early that morning. MG had discovered her pet cold and lifeless just minutes before she had to leave.

“Mom, my guinea pig died.” Her words spilled out, followed by a flood of self-blame. She wondered if it was her fault: “Maybe I missed a day of feeding or watering them. Coffee, the other guinea pig, seems fine, so maybe it was something I could have prevented. Maybe I should’ve taken them to the vet.”

“MG,” I interjected gently, “Tea was a rescue, and you gave her the best life she could have had. She probably lived more fully and longer with you than she would have otherwise.” We paused in that moment together, holding the sadness.

After sitting with her grief, my practical side took over, and I couldn’t help but think about the logistics. I broke the silence. “So… what are you planning to do with Tea’s body?”

MG hesitated. “I was thinking about cremating her.” My mind flashed to the cost, but I kept it to myself. She continued, “I don’t want to bury her near my apartment. Could I bury her here?”

“Of course,” I replied, knowing I’d have to give my husband a heads-up that we’d soon have a small pet cemetery in our backyard.

With that decided, MG headed off to work, and I set about the preparations. I dug through the closet for a shoebox and Googled “guinea pig burial tips” (in case you’re ever in need: use an eco-friendly container and make sure the hole is at least two feet deep).

Soon enough, I was outside digging with a shovel. I texted MG’s brother, Franklin, to see if he’d be willing to help, hoping he could swing by after work to assist with the burial. Franklin came through like a champ, using his early release day to drive to Baltimore with MG for Tea while I continued digging and looked up a fitting liturgy to honor Tea’s life.

By the time MG and Franklin arrived our little gathering had grown. MG brought a friend for support—and, unexpectedly, another pet to be laid to rest: Beef, a lizard who had passed away some time ago and was temporarily stored in their freezer. Our simple pet funeral had become a BOGO “bring one, get one” burial.

When everything was ready, I gathered everyone and recited an adapted liturgy for the loss of a living creature from Every Moment Holy by Doug McKelvey:

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to remember Tea. Here was your good creature, O Lord, called to life by your own compassionate design. We are filled with a rightful affection for this small life your hands made, delighting daily in its presence. Our hearts are unprepared for such a loss, and we grieve. We are thankful for the blessings of knowing these creatures and for the lingering imprint of such cherished presence in our lives. We are grateful for these good memories of sweeter times.”

I invited MG to say a few words, and we ended with a quiet prayer: “Comfort us in this meantime, O Lord, for the ache of these days is real. Amen.”

MG carefully placed Tea’s body, wrapped in a brown paper sack, into the grave. Each of us took turns adding a shovelful of dirt, and we marked the spot with a small stick and a few flowers from the yard. Together, we laid these beloved pets to rest.

In the end, what began as a regular Tuesday transformed into something far more meaningful—a small ceremony of love and farewell, honoring the little lives that had meant so much.