Losing Wilbur

We each snuck a spoon out of the dining hall, walked outside, settled on a suitable spot for a grave and started digging. My eyes, sore from crying, watered as the small hole in the ground grew deeper. Slowly and carefully, I placed the shell I was holding in the ground and covered it up with dirt. I had just buried my best friend. 

Wilbur was the first snail I owned. He was funny, lovable, and he helped me through some of the darkest times in my life. I am writing this to process my feelings and come to terms with his death. 

I can’t remember the first time I held him in my palm, but I do remember the last time. I was having a really rough night: drama, classes, the usual. I began to watch him slither in his enclosure and, soon, I let him crawl on my finger. I reclined in my chair and admired him as he moved. 

He’s always been one of my most robust snails; he’s always the one I let my friends hold. He loved exploring every inch of his terrain, his eyestalks catching every detail of the room. We had a mini photo shoot and, soon, I began talking to him. 

“Thank you for being here for me,” I said pointlessly, as snails can’t understand human speech. I like to think that deep down, he knew what I meant. 

Losing Wilbur overwhelmed me. In an instant, the creature who I saw grow and grow with me disappeared. 

You may have experienced grief before, reader. I’m not saying that losing one of my snails is comparable to the feeling of losing a family member or childhood pet. But the moment I smelled the foul odor of death and saw his limp body resting in his shell, I thought the world had broken in two. 

I cried, and called my loved ones, and cried some more. My friends, who had made plans with me to go to Target, were helping me wipe snot off my face. 

I felt so stupid for crying over a snail. But every time I thought of him exploring my palm, I couldn’t help it. I knew there would be no more moments like that with him. 

Even if he’s in a happier place, I couldn’t help but feel like he left me behind. 

Every life is temporary, every moment is bound to end. 

But that doesn’t mean that I can’t always carry a piece of Wilbur in my memory. 

After the burial, we found a piece of concrete to use as a makeshift headstone. I sang Amazing Grace. My friends said a few words. We washed up. We went to Target. Life moved on. 

Wilbur changed me. He inspired me to start this column and to proudly wear my interests on my sleeve. Many times, he was there for me when I felt alone. To honor his memory, I will carry on loving snails. After all, I still have six beautiful snabies to care for. 

He’s in snail heaven now. Snacking on his favorite veggies and exploring new lands. Wilbur may be gone, but he will always live on in my memory.

Rest in Peace, Wilbur.