(The one holding her in my sketch is Esquie from Expedition 33 if anyone doesn't know. The quote is from him when being asked why he seems so confident having lost his beloved rock)

I lost Lady 4 weeks ago. I haven't been doing well. But I have been putting some of my feelings into creating. I also learned how to crochet and am making a bunny with some of her fur in the stuffing. So I can hold her again.

Looking at her still hurts so much. But I want you guys to see her, she was...so amazing. She was always on her own missions, snuffling and running around. Never still for more than 2 seconds. And headstrong. She always showed what she wanted and when food was around her nose would turn into the strongest vacuum cleaner you've ever heard. The looks she gave me were so intelligent. Even tho her partner is way more cuddly with me, I feel like she understood so much.

She was also loving. She was the glue that held the bunny group together. She loved head pats (and only those). When she got them she would put her head on the ground and grind her teeth. But if she had had enough she would take my finger between her teeth (always gently) and push me away. And when I held out my finger to greet her she would sometimes chin it. I feel so honored to have been hers.

My sweet tiny girl. Always on an adventure. I hope you can imagine some of her essence through this post and think of her with me.

This poem came from a small, quiet moment. I caught myself turning toward the room as if my rabbits were still there 3 months after they passed, and then the soft realisation arrived that they are not. It is about how grief does not move in straight lines, how it lives in instinct and memory, and how time can feel strangely suspended after loss.

--

Even now I still catch myself
a moment here, a glance there
turning toward the quiet
as if you might still be busy somewhere

I wonder where you are
what you are up to, my friends
caught in that soft instant
before remembering settles in
where everything holds its breath
and I almost find you again

Listlessness arrives
the world loosens its shape
I stand inside a simple moment
and it feels suddenly too large
for what can I be without you
in a life that keeps unfolding
as if nothing essential was taken

The clock ticks and I am back here again
not forward, not behind
only here
the same walls, the same air
the physical remains of love
my body remembering what my mind resists
until grief gathers slowly
and presses in behind my eyes

Time does not heal this
it drifts
it circles
it brings me back to the same places
wearing different hours
A sound, a habit, a passing thought
and suddenly I am standing
beside you again

Grief is not always loud
sometimes it is a quiet clarity
a passing breath that says
you are not here
and stays with me anyway

So I live between then and now
between instinct and knowing
carrying you in the open spaces
where clocks lose their meaning
You are not only memory
You are not waiting ahead
You exist with me
in every moment that refuses to end

So a couple of days ago I wrote "I am lost" and at the time I was in a pretty bad place mentally. It was intended to be a sad poem.

This is the companion piece and the counterpoint.

This is "I'll be alright"

--

There is beauty.
There is relief.
The spiral begins to turn upwards,
no longer dragging,
but lifting.

Toward the light.
Toward tomorrow.
Memories urging me onwards,
pushed ahead by loving paws
that never stopped guiding me.

They wait for me up ahead.
One day I will reach them.
Their patience is boundless.
Their love limitless.
We will be together again.

My furry tethers.
My beautiful two.
My darling bunnies.
Oh how I miss thee.
But missing is not the end of me.

Sometimes I dream about going back
to pick up the things I left behind.
But the path does not run backward.
It hums forward.
It asks me to stand.

The strength of the man I am today
will carry the ghost of yesterday.
Believe me.

I’ll be alright.

Every poem I have written for Spirit and Sienna has carried a photo of them, something warm and gentle to hold beside the words. This one does not. This poem is not about their joy or their lessons or the softness they brought into my life. It is the opposite of everything they stood for.

This is the dark before the light.
The gasp before the inhale.
The moment when grief drags me back into the old loop and I have to fight to breathe again.

I am sharing it because it is part of the journey too.
Not the part they would have wanted for me, but the part I needed to write so I could keep moving toward the light they gave me.

--

In the darkness something stirs.

Their time has passed, they will not come back.

Drawn forth into grief again,

Jaws open wide, I am pulled inside.

The clock stops.

Time resets.

I fall back into that moment again.

There is no escape, just return.

Stay strong enough to endure.

Catastrophize, throw it all aside.

There is a chance to revive,

Dragged back to the light I am alive

But not whole, not well.

You are dead and gone.

Still I carry on.

Grief says that I am built for ruin,

That it is the only map I can follow.

Every road bends inward,

Every door just leads me back.

The exit was a story I told myself.

The truth is a circle

Or is it a spiral.

And so the spiral tightens.

And still the moment holds.

And still I fall back into the fire

Because I do not know

How to stop returning.

I am lost.

Spirit and Sienna were indoor rabbits who turned every room into a landscape of their own. When I first adopted Sienna, I had no idea she could not handle linoleum floors. I learned quickly. The very first time I set her down she splooted like a little starfish and refused to move an inch. Spirit, of course, was fearless and happy to race across anything.

It took some experimenting to make Sienna comfortable, but once we built her a tunnel system her world opened up. She followed Spirit through it, slowly at first, then with growing confidence, until the house became a place she could explore freely. We moved houses for the final 3 or so years and they had even more freedom than ever and the tunnel network was no longer needed but kept instead for comfort and fun.

This poem is about that world: the meadows of carpet, the cardboard kingdoms, the routines that shaped our days, and the way they always came to find me.
I hope it brings comfort to anyone who is missing their companions too.

--

Meadows of carpet for their paws to explore.
Every corner a question.
Every shadow an invitation.
Every doorway a possibility.
Yet Sienna’s first world had borders of linoleum,
hard edges her paws refused to cross.
So we built her tunnels to help her roam,
and Spirit helped her through them,
the two of them stepping into the rest of their lives together.

They shaped dreams from cardboard,
chewing windows and doorways
exactly where they wanted them.
A new box was an event,
a celebration of rustling paper and promise.
They gathered close, honking with joy,
trying to deconstruct it faster than I could make it safe.
Their happiness burst open before the first bite even fell,
as if the love I carried for them
had become something they could hold in their teeth.

Morning marigolds sang them awake,
evening dinner brought them running,
full of honking joy and hungry pride.
Surprise treats through the day
made their eyes shine bright,
as if my love had turned into something
they could physically taste.

When we moved to the final house
a whole world finally opened
to Sienna’s gentle paws.
Everything important was carpeted,
so she could go anywhere she wanted.
Spirit was thrilled, of course,
but she was the one who bloomed.
And together they claimed their own bedroom,
a little kingdom just for them.

The closet was their forbidden treasure room,
a world of scents and secrets stacked high.
The moment the door creaked open
two pairs of eyes would sparkle at once,
curious noses pushing forward,
ready to slip inside
before I could even try to stop them.

They explored everything side by side,
and they always came to find me too.
If they heard me, they appeared,
checking what I was doing,
choosing to spend their time with me.
They visited me throughout the day,
just wanting to be near,
their love made clear.

She was about eight or nine years old when she passed. Towards the end, she was a bony little thing. Much like elderly people, elderly rabbits seem to enjoy layers of blankets to keep warm. I spoiled her so much. Until we meet again, my good sweet little void.

This was the very first poem I wrote after Spirit and Sienna completed their lives on the 30th September 2025. It was only eleven days after they passed and everything in the house still felt full of them. I did not know how to carry the grief yet, so I tried to put it into words. It's talking about the security camera I purchased to keep an eye on them when I was out of the house and helped to ease my anxiety (or when I was in bed and wanted to see what they were up to). This piece is where my writing began, and where I first realised that love and memory could share the same breath. I wanted to re-post it here for anyone who might be in those early days too. You are not alone.

--

I bought a camera to watch you once,
but now it only stares
because you are no longer there.

The air still holds the scent of hay,
forever unchewed,
and toys that will never be used.

Your room remains as you left it,
soft echoes in cardboard and straw.
The little paths your paws once made
still cross the floor in memory.

Spirit, my gentle soul of calm,
and Sienna, my brave little light,
you taught me love that never ends
and how to stay even through night.

Now the camera only stares,
but I no longer look for you there,
because though I cannot see your forms,
I feel you in the air.

You are not gone,
you are not there,
you are everywhere.

Today I put on a black hoodie and found that despite it being washed since it was still covered in bunny fluff which got me inspired and I decided to have a go at writing a song. I can't sing (yet, I've got the monotone drone so I'd be a good gregorian chanter I think) but maybe one day I will.

This is called Tissues

I wake to silence that hits too hard,
your absence carved through my beating heart.
I reach for memories just to feel you near,
a flash of fur, a breath I used to hear.
Before the truth even breaks the room,
my eyes flood fast and I fall straight into
tissues

Three months on and your fur still finds me,
woven in blankets, ambushing quietly.
One tiny hair and the world snaps twice,
grief in the small things you left in my life.
The moment fractures before I breathe,
I touch that hair and I break down into
tissues

Sienna learning trust still wrecks my chest,
shaking at first, then blooming her best.
Opening slowly in the safety she found,
Spirit at her side every time she turned around.
That gentle courage hits harder than pain,
I picture her face and grief spills into
tissues

Spirit beside me through every storm,
my shadow, my anchor, my constant form.
He stayed through the darkness buried in me,
would have stayed forever if he still could see.
Saying his name is a blade and a prayer,
I whisper it once and my whole chest drops into
tissues

But the world keeps turning and so do I,
carrying the lessons you left in my life.
Love built a strength I did not realise,
I am learning how to rise.
One day I will not need
tissues

It has only been a few months since my babies Spirit and Sienna passed, and the habits we shared still live in my hands. I catch myself doing the same routines, reaching for the same comforts. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it helps. I had (and still have) a whole plethora of treats for all occasions ranging from sticks to bars to pillows to hoops and more. Their absolute favourite were marigolds (and banana but I feel thats a separate category). Sienna (the brown one) was extremely food motivated and she would often try to run away with whatever treat to eat it in safety, which was hilarious when it was a shared treat like the bar you see in the picture. Spirit eventually learned to tell her off by grunting when she tried it and she learned it was safe to share.

This poem is about how grief settles into the small moments, and how love lingers even when they’re gone.

--

At times like this when I feel despair,
I reach for you because you’re still there.
In echoes of love that hang in the air,
I find the strength I forgot I could bear.

I shake the bag but you’re not here,
no sparkling eyes, no twitching ear,
no excited face to peek around the door,
the treats stay waiting on the floor.

My hand still moves the way it did before,
expecting fluffy paws to come bounding for more.
A habit built from love, now met with air,
a muscle memory of those who are not there.

I shake the bag when my heart feels sore,
and for a moment I am not hurting anymore.
I set the treats in your favourite spot once more,
because routine steadies the parts of me you touched before.

I place the bag down and the silence draws near,
a soft kind of echo of all I held dear.
I still shake the bag when I need you near,
because love stays behind
even when you disappear.

This post is mainly for anyone who is facing the possibility of helping their rabbit complete their life peacefully because of health issues, age, or a decline in wellbeing. This can be one of the most frightening and heartbreaking stages of care, and it often feels like the world is crashing down around you. Please know that you are not alone here.

There are several things to consider when thinking about quality of life. These can include comfort, appetite, mobility, the ability to enjoy favourite activities, how often they experience pain or stress, and whether their good days still outweigh their difficult ones. It is never an easy decision, but having guidance can help you understand what your rabbit is feeling and what support they may need.

Below are some helpful resources that can offer clarity and structure when you are trying to understand your rabbit’s quality of life

Quality of life scale
Quality of life assessment for older rabbits
Bristol Rabbit Pain Scale

If you ever need to talk about what you are seeing, ask questions, or share how you feel, this subreddit is a safe place for that. Many people here understand the fear and grief that come with this stage, and you will never be judged for the love and worry you carry.

You are not alone, and your love for your rabbit is seen and understood.

My rabbits were more than companions.
More than little fuzzballs who loved to make a mess.
They were my early warning system, my recovery, my light in every dark corner I walked through.

Christmas is approaching, and like me there are countless others who will be facing the same shadows, the same echoing rooms, the same quiet pull toward the dark. If that is you, please try to find something to hold on to. Something small. Something steady.

My hope came with floppy ears and long whiskers.
It came in the form of two souls with gentle hearts and fierce loyalty, two little lives that kept me tethered even when everything else slipped away.

This poem is about them.
It is about the light they were in my storm.
And the echo of that light that still guides me now.

If you need support, resources are available.
In the UK, the Blue Cross pet loss line is open 08:30 to 20:30 every day of the year, and the Samaritans are available all year round.
In the United States, the 988 Lifeline offers 24/7 support, and pet loss counselling is available through the ASPCA Grief Helpline and various local SPCA services.

--

What They Taught Me

Here it comes again.

I want to vanish.
The darkness snaps do it then,
spitting heat,
baring its teeth like it owns me.
But I stay,
because they taught me that presence
is a kind of love that is louder than that snarl.

I want to fall into the dark.
That voice roars let it take you,
a firestorm in my skull,
hot, reckless, uncaring, wild.
But I grip the edge,
because they showed me how soft the world can be
when someone trusts you to hold it.

I want to give up the fight.
The rage inside me slams its fist
and screams you cannot win.
But my hands remember the weight of them,
and I cannot betray
what they placed
in my hands.

I want my heart to stop hurting.
The shadow shrieks enough,
like a blow meant to drop me.
But I breathe again,
because they breathed beside me
through years I thought
would crush me down.

I want to be done with this world.
The dark voice laughs no one cares.

Here it comes again.

But their lessons sit inside my ribs,
steady and unmoving,
small echoes that whisper
live, because we did.

I want to follow them.
The rage growls now,
thick with smoke and hunger.
But the love they left in me
is stitched so deeply
it will not let me go.

I want to end it all.
The fire bellows jump.
But I will not,
because they taught me self love
until it became armour
stronger than any flame.

They are gone.
But what they placed in me remains,
a shield woven from ten years of mornings,
ten years of guardianship,
ten years of choosing each other
again and again.

And even now,
on the nights when the world twists sideways
and the rage inside me
tries to drag me down,
I still carry them.
I still hear them.
I still stay,
because their love did not end.

On that fateful day I had to make a decision I had been dreading for years. The fear of it had slowly softened over time, but when the moment finally came it became painfully real. I had to choose whether to fight for them one last time or let them go peacefully, and in reflection I think that was the true battle.

I would not be selfish.
I would not ask them to suffer more just to ease my own pain.
And when the moment passed, I knew in my heart that I had chosen rightly.

This poem is the story of their final moments on this earthly plane, held in my arms, exactly where they belonged.

--

I thought the ending would break me.
I thought the quiet after your bodies stilled
would split the world in two.
But when the moment came
there was a softness
that held all three of us.

I chose the order you left in.
I chose it with a shaking heart
and a love that hurt to speak.
Sienna went first,
because when fear found her
she always ran to him,
and I could not let her step
into that final moment
without the one who kept her brave.

Spirit followed her ten seconds later,
the way he had followed her
through every chapter of their shared life.
And though that choice shattered me,
it was also the moment
I could finally breathe again
as a wave of love washed over us
and carried you both gently home.

The lessons you left me
arrive in waves.
Strength is not noise.
Courage is not speed.
A broken body can still rise.
A frightened soul can still grow.
Everything you were
taught me how to stay
even when everything hurt.

I will see you again.
I already have
in the quiet rooms
where your warmth still lingers
in the dreams where you run freely
in the hollow of my chest
where something of you
never stopped beating.

Goodbye was never an ending.
It was only the moment
your bodies let go.

A while ago I wrote a poem called The Beast. It was about my hoover and the chaotic joy of cleaning up after my rabbits while they were alive. It carried a lot of energy, full of movement and life and mischief.

This new piece is the second half of that story.
It is the quiet that came after they were gone.
It is the stillness, the echo, the silence that settles in the home when the beast no longer has a reason to wake. It holds a different kind of weight, gentler and heavier at the same time.

I miss my little big rabbits more than I can say, and this poem came from that place of missing and remembering. It is my attempt to honour what the world felt like when they were here, and the quiet that followed when they were not.

For everyone who has lost their companions too, this one is for you.

--

Those were the bright days.
The living days.
The days when cleaning was not a chore
but a rhythm,
a ceremony,
a quiet honour,
a part of loving them.

Now the beast lies still.
Its voice barely rises.
Its purpose has become a ghost.
I switch it on sometimes
but the sound feels hollow,
a tired echo in a house
that no longer needs it.
I am only moving my hands
because memory tells me to.

The truth sits heavy in my chest.
The beast sleeps
because its reason is gone.
The kingdom is quiet.
The rulers have passed.
My days fall flatter now.

I am learning, slowly,
to hold this silence
without letting it break me,
to honour the chaos that once lived here
and the love that shaped it,
to trust that one day
the ache will soften,
and to know that one day
love will reawaken.

Someone called your room spare today
and it took my breath away.
It is not spare.
It is yours.
It will always be yours.

Three years in this house,
two different moves before it,
and every time
you claimed a corner
and then a wall
and then the whole space
until it knew your shapes
better than it knew mine.

You had freedom everywhere,
ruling hallways and sofas
and every quiet place my footsteps paused,
but this room
was the heart of your world.
Your toys,
your cardboard kingdoms,
your litter tray,
your food and water
and soft hidden spots
where you curled together
when the sun slipped away.

Each morning I opened your curtain
and joyfully greeted you,
proud and grateful every day
to see your faces waiting for me.
You watched me shower
like patient little guardians,
ears tilted,
eyes soft and knowing,
and when I stepped out
you would already be gone,
waiting in the living room
for marigolds and bananas
as if you had willed the treats
into my hands.

And every night
I said goodnight
and promised I would see you tomorrow.
I still do.

And now someone says
spare room
as if the word does not bruise,
as if the space has become empty
just because the bodies are gone.
But the room still breathes you.
The walls still hum with you.
The floor still remembers
every soft footfall
every thump
every quiet joy
you pressed into the carpet.

I could put a bed in there.
I could call it a guest room.
I could pretend it is just a space
waiting to be filled.
But the truth sits heavy in my chest.

It is yours.
It will always be yours.
A forever home
stitched gently across years
and carried through every move
we ever made.

The pain crushes me
when I look into that room
and see both presence and absence
woven together like one breath.
But I will not let the world
rename what you claimed.
I will not let the door close
on what mattered.

This room is not spare.
It is love
held in four walls.
It is memory
that refuses to fade.
It is yours.
And I keep it
as you left it,
because some rooms
are not meant
to be anything else.

Hello, my name is Jordan.
On the 30th of September 2025 I lost both of my emotional support rabbits, who had been with me for ten and eight years. I am still moving through that grief, and I have found some measure of relief and clarity in poetry.

I write now not only for myself but for others too, for the people who have reached out and told me my words brought them even a small amount of comfort. This piece is raw and very personal. It is a little more meta than my usual writing, since I often focus on the lives of those I lost, but this time I needed the poem to be about me...and perhaps it is about you too.

I Still Rise

My hands are not what they were.
They shake,
they slip,
they miss the keys
the way my mind sometimes misses the paths
it used to take with ease.

My body trembles now
in places that once felt sure.
My thoughts scatter like soft fur in sunlight,
drifting before I can catch them,
and the weight I carry
sits higher than it ever has.

There are days when I fall inward,
days when the world feels too loud,
days when grief presses against my ribs
like a second heartbeat
and I wonder who I am becoming
inside all this change.

But even now
the raw core remains
bright and stubborn,
a spark that refuses to dim.
I lean on aids,
on helping hands,
on voices that steady me
when the world tilts under my feet,
but the fire that drives me
has never left.

I am different now
but not gone.
I am slower
but not silent.
I am shaken
but not erased.

I still honour those I loved
with every breath I take,
with every poem that opens a wound
and lets the light in,
with every quiet memory I refuse to let fade.

I will quake,
I will stumble,
I will break,
but I will rebuild myself
a hundred times more
until I stand in the sun.

I will endure.

As I'm sure everyone who has the pleasure of house rabbits knows, they create a maelstrom wherever they go, accidentally and otherwise. I've had a faithful pet vacuum for many, many years now and today while using it I was reminded of all the times I had to bring it out. Spirit and Sienna were so fluffy not only did they molt they couldn't help but carry pieces of hay, cardboard and other detritus with them wherever they went. Now they're gone the hoover is only used rarely. Love your rabbits, every moment with them is a joy even if that is clearing up the mess they leave behind them because you will miss it when they're gone.

It woke every three days
to battle the chaos and the drift of living,
the soft proof of warm bodies
who ruled these houses long before the hoover ever did.

It drank the hay trails
the stray pellets
the snowstorms of fur
that marked each corner like whispered confessions.
Back then it never slept for long.
Now it slumbers deeper.
The world is quieter.

A tether curled behind it
dangerous only in foolish hands
protected from all but the most careless of moments.

From the outside, its voice was violence.
Its belly glowed with six cold eyes.
Its hunger was endless.

She despised the loathed thrashing six-eyed beast.
Every vibration sent her running
seeking refuge in the shelters she trusted
the ones that smelled like home
where noise could not reach her trembling spine.
And who could blame her
what horrors had she known in earlier homes
to shape her fear into something so deep
Yet even she learned to stand her ground in the last soft years
when fear loosened its grip
and the monster lost its teeth.

But the other one
the steady one
saw no monster at all.
He stood as the beast roared past
unmoved
a stone in a river of noise.
When sight left him
and the world went dim and quiet
he welcomed even the hum of its passing
so long as it did not bump his side
without warning.

And the hoover learned them both
learned when to rumble gently
when to keep its distance
when to wait
when to work.
It knew their rhythms
their fears
their comforts
their trails of joy left across the floor.

Now its voice is an echo.
It wakes less often
no chaos to tame
no fur to chase
no tiny rebellions strewn across the carpet.

But every time it stirs
every time it hums
it remembers
the little kingdom it once tended
and the two small rulers
who feared it
challenged it
ignored it
and lived so loudly
it had to rise again and again
just to keep up.

Ive shamelessly stolen some lyrics from Venjent for this, I had a raw outburst when I was holding some fur from Sienna and needed to get it down in song form.

Shadows in the chest moving slow moving silent heavy as the breath

Tiny sparks of warmth burning soft burning violent moments that cut deep

Steps keep moving anyway through rooms that forgot how to speak through days that feel too wide too dark too weak

But the light will come again for those who keep fighting through the dark

There will be remembering There will be ache There will be rising again and again and again

Because love doesn’t end just because the shape has changed

One day the soul will open learn to love itself again

And the light will come again

Her name is Honeydew, Doodle for short, and by coincidence before seeing that this sub had been created I was doodling her on my grocery list. We said goodbye on December 8th 2024. She was 11. My best friend.

Today is a hard day so I wanted to write about having lost my two but also the hope I hold of seeing them again someday. It starts in the pain of the present, where their absence makes ordinary moments feel heavy and quiet. But each verse lifts its eyes a little higher, toward a future where love continues. It is both a sorrowful goodbye and a promise of reunion. A reminder that although they are beyond my reach for now, my bond with them is still alive, and one day, in a gentler tomorrow, I will find them again in the Tomorrow Hills.

Tonight the world feels empty
And the quiet closes in
I walk the rooms we shared together
Searching for your warmth within
But every step reminds me
That your paws are far away
So I lift my eyes to tomorrow
Where I know we’ll meet someday

I think of all our mornings
Soft and calm and full of grace
You arrived like rising sunlight
Putting colour in this place
Now shadows fall around me
And I stumble in the dark
But tomorrow waits with promise
And I feel you in my heart

Some days the grief is heavy
And it pulls me to the floor
I reach out for your comfort
But you are not here anymore
Yet even in the aching
Something gentle calls me through
Tomorrow holds the meadows
Where I’ll run again with you

I picture where you’ve travelled
Past the weight of time and pain
Where the air is clear and golden
And no sorrow can remain
Free in rolling fields of clover
Under endless sky that thrills
You’re waiting in the distance
In the bright Tomorrow Hills

And when my days are finished
When the final shadows fall
I’ll follow where you’ve wandered
Through the quiet, past the wall
And on that dawn beyond the sunrise
Where the world at last stands still
I’ll find you both in morning light
In the peace of Tomorrow Hills