The Life Lesson of Cedar

They say 13 is an unlucky number, but the 13 days we spent with Cedar will forever count among our luckiest. He was only meant to stay one night at Edgar’s Mission. Just a brief respite while our friends at Lamb Care Australia found him a foster carer. But fate had other plans.

That one night turned into something far greater.

Something far grander.

And as quickly as we welcomed Cedar in, it became clear that all was not well.

Was it the small abrasion on his head, or something deeper and unseen, that hampered his ability to walk?

Only time would tell. And it did.

But not before Cedar, with all the light he had in him, cheerfully told us so much about himself.

A happy-go-lucky little lamb whose body wouldn’t play ball. His gait was a stagger, and his limbs tottered between limp and landing—but his spirit was always bright.

And his eyes were always filled with love.

Cedar loved life. And we loved him.

He loved his bottle—oh, how he loved his bottle. His eyes would flash with giddy delight at the sight of it, and his lips would flutter with anticipation, frantic in their joy. It was as though they had sonar for that soft teat, his tongue curling around it like an octopus dance.
His joy became ours.

And when his snow-white legs could no longer carry him, we made him a little cart. Each screw tightened with love. Each joiner pressed together with hope.

And he tried—oh, how Cedar tried. His face firm with determination, his little hind legs working hard to propel him forward. And sometimes they did, sometimes they didn’t, but every attempt propelled him further into our hearts.

When they found traction, we cheered. And when they did not, we encouraged. Even his front legs—so often limp—seemed to flicker with memory and possibility.

There was promise.

With CT and MRI scans scheduled for tomorrow, we clung to hope. Just as we clung to Cedar. But moments ago, that hope was taken off the table. Because when we looked at our once bright and bubbly lamb, we no longer saw Cedar as we knew him.

His ears hung. His eyes held fear. His legs kicked.

And he told us, in the only way he could, that it was time for us to let go.

The suddenness of it somehow made the decision clear. But nothing, no matter how clear, can prepare one for the weight of finality.

Cedar is now at peace. And his legacy is now real.

As we cradled his warm little body and our salt-filled tears fell like rain, we gave thanks for 13 days of unbridled joy. For a tiny lamb who arrived for one night—and left memories and motivations that will last a lifetime.

And then some.

Cedar’s body betrayed him. Our animal protection laws continue to betray his kind.

And yet Cedar bore no grudges. He was love. He was joy. He was resilience wrapped in wool. A reminder that when life gets hard, the strong don’t harden—they stay soft, they keep going. They stay kind.

Though Cedar is gone, he lives on.

In the flowers.
In the trees.
In the soil.
In the birds.
In the breeze.
He is the song.
He is nature.
And so are we.

And when we truly understand this—who then can we harm?

This is the life lesson of Cedar.

May it never be forgotten.