When the Grief Settles

Though right from the beginning he had things stacked against him, he never let it hold him back. A tiny runty piglet with a wound that could have taken him before his story had even begun. But Calvin had other ideas. He held on long enough to find sanctuary, and then he grew, and before long he became two hundred kilos of porcine brilliance—full of life, love and character.

Oh, and what a character he was. With his black and white patches and those bright, knowing eyes.

As a piglet, he would leap with such joy you could be forgiven for thinking his dad was a Mexican jumping bean. Especially when he played with dear Ruby, bouncing and twisting with a kind of abandon that made it impossible not to smile. And though he was exuberant, he was never overwhelming.

One of our favourite memories of Calvin was the day we took him to the daffodil field. He sprinted off down one of the rows, but we never feared losing him, for all we had to do was look for dear Ruby and her wagging tail.

And he had a way of finding his people. Or perhaps they found him. Either way, he met each of them with a softness that matched those long whiskers on his hairy snout. He did not demand attention, but he drew it all the same, simply by being who he was.

He really was a gentle, humble pig, in every way. Perhaps that is why he was so perfect for Shiloh.

Where she was uncertain, he was steady. Where she hesitated, he remained. And in that unhurried companionship, something opened for her. He did not ask her to be brave, yet she became so because of him. True to form, he simply stood beside her until she was.

More recently, he left us as he lived, without fuss, slipping away peacefully in his sleep. No grand moment, no drawn-out goodbye, just a gentle closing of a life that had been anything but small.

And for a while, the days will feel different. Quieter, in a way that is hard to name.

But when the grief settles, what remains is him.

In the smiles that come without warning. In the memory of those joyful leaps amongst the daffodils. And in the space beside Shiloh that somehow does not feel entirely empty.

Because pigs like Calvin do not really leave.

They simply become part of the way we remember how to feel.