The Death...Oh the Death

OK.

Something very traumatic has happened to me that is very hard to share.

My plant Herbie...he's dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

*SOB*


Seriously, folks, it's a crisis. He was my best friend when I first got here. I talked to him constantly. Well, not constantly...but...like, once and a while, like, when no one was looking. I WAS LONELY, OK???? I'M NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE CATS IN MY BUILDING, ALRIGHT???

So, yeah, here's a tribute, to Herbie, my best friend in plant form. And like any plants that I keep and actully like, he died. I kill that which I love. DON'T LOVE ME, I"M HIDEOUS AND A GREEN THING KILLER! *SOB*

So...here's a slidehow of Herbie and me while he was still alive.



This is Herbie sitting on the left with his hardier, harder-to-kill cousin, Bastille. Herbie's cousin Bastille was orginally named Spidey, but I decided he needed to be more continental about it, and so I gave him a French name. And Bastille kinda is like a castle. Or a weed. I can't decide. All previous attempts to kill Bastille (leaving him out when it's cold, refusing to water him for days) in favour of showing Herbie how much I loved him didn't seem to phase Bastille. In fact, the more I tried to kill Bastille, the more he flourished, and the more Herbie died. Coincedence? I think not. Obviously, karma was out to get me. And Herbie. Why? WHY THE PLANT?????? *SOB*





This is a picture with Herbie in the background. We had just gotten back from a trip to get my microwave. It rained the entire way back. I was a mess. Herbie is just in the background....isn't he awesome? Yeah, well, he's dead now. Moving on.

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Ok...so I couldn't find a picture where I'm talking to him, but I realize that that may be a bit much. When having these personal moments, pictures wouldn't have been appropriate. But, I documented his funeral. Yeah. It was rough.











So this was the official death statement made by the doctor. I feel like it captures in essence what happened, while still making all the technical information easy to digest by the public. After the doctor had made the official announcement, the actual funeral itself was looming. Like, I needed to do it so I could go to bed. I just kept telling myself, "The feng shui wont be right if you go to bed with dead things in your apartment, it just wont be, it just wont be." *SOB* Oh, feng shiu! You make everything so RATIONAL!









OK, so I lent Bastille some things to wear, cause y'know, you have to wear black at a funeral...I didn't have a lot of stuff in his size, though...which is...rotund. So I let him wear my shades so that no one would see him cry, and made him a tie/shirt out of my sunglasses case. Of course, I said to him, "You're a big man, Bastille. No one will care if you cry at a funeral. People do stuff like that." But he didn't listen, you know? Mentally irrational in a state of grief. He's kind of more of the silent type. I think I'm a wailer. Funerals probably aren't my scene. I'm a public mess. Maybe I shouldn't have been put in charge of coordinating it.






So, yeah, it's awkward to go to a small funeral, so I thought I would include more to make it seem like it was a well populated event. So I decided to include my bears ("The Brothers Three, I like to call them) in this event since they're one of those things that I love dearly and would probably hold a funeral for if they ever parted ways with me...or got dropped on the floor and broke. I mean, what do you imagine they would say about someone like Herbie, a book shelf buddy of theirs, since they sat near him all the time? Probably, "Grr," and "Argh," and stuff. I didn't ask them about it, because, well...I think it's obvious. They were smiling during the whole funeral. Who smiles during a funeral???? RUDE PEOPLE, THAT'S WHO. REALLY, REALLY RUDE PEOPLE.






So I hired a bag piper to play at the funeral. He seemed like a good chap. Herbie would have liked Scottish music. But he never lived long enough for me to learn the bagpipe and show him. *WEEP*








So this was the funeral. Herbie is in open casket mode, with all his roots showing. It's a little graphic, but I lit a candle, and I opened the Bible randomly to Job 13, which is a little freaky (Go read it) and the whole experience had a lot of personal meaning for me. I wanted to play "Danny Boy," but I thought that might have been kind of out of place, because Herbie seems to be more of a tropical plant, so maybe I should have played something from a Morrocan band? Anyways, when unsure, silence is always the best answer. SILENCE IS BEST.


So, after a very nice moment of silence, I, the singular person volunteering to be the casket bearer, put Herbie in said casket (grocery bag) and said prayers as I lowered him into his final resting place (disposed of him in the dumpster). After that, I went to sleep and I had nightmares about having AIDS. I decided that this had to do with me BEING THE WORST PLANT OWNER ON THE PLANET.

I suck with plants.

I'm sorry Herbie.

No one likes losing friends. Even plant friends. And plants are our friends.

Except for rose bushes. They're nobody's friend.


So, to Herbie.

Herbie

R.I.P.

Christened Sept 2005

Keeled and Bit the Big One Nov 2o05

Brennan couldn't admit you were really dead until Dec 2005

May Little Bee-Like Angels pollenate you in Heaven

Forevermore.