It is with a heart heavier than I ever imagined that I share the news of our beloved budgie, Kiwi’s, passing.
Kiwi was the feathered dynamo who “belts out rock songs like he’s fronting a band.” He was more than a pet; he was a tiny, vibrant, and, yes, my not-so-secret favorite child.
His final day was a quiet one. After a visit to the vet, I brought him home, hoping his medicine would be the turning point. My younger daughter came and patted him. Then I told him I was going to fetch his biggest fan, my eldest daughter, from college. But as I was about to walk out the door, a feeling—an invisible pull—made me turn back. I took him into my hand, and in the warmth of my palm, he slipped away peacefully.
He waited until he was held, until he heard my voice one last time, and until he knew his beloved eldest sister will be home soon. It was a final, gentle act from a creature who brought us so much noise and joy.
We are heartbroken. We find comfort in the belief that his spirit is still near, still listening, and that love doesn’t end with a final breath.
We miss our little frontman more than words can say.
This evening, lost in grief, I drove out and saw the most breathtaking sunset, and I knew that it was him. It was Kiwi’s final encore—a brilliant, peaceful show to let us know he’s okay.
Rest in peace now, our sweet Kiwi. Keep the band warmed up for us.
❤️❤️❤️
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