Grief comes in all shapes and sizes. Here’s what Richard Swerdlow learned when he lost an unexpected friend.
My friend Ludwig died recently. He was about 6, but that’s middle age when your lifespan is 15 years.
Yes, Ludwig was a snake. A ball python, to be precise. He lived inside a glass aquarium in a science museum near my house. There were lots of interesting exhibits, but Ludwig was my favorite.
And I wasn’t the only one. Visitors were allowed to hold Ludwig, a gentle, non-venomous creature, under the watchful supervision of museum staff. He would curl around an arm, grinning a cheerful snaky smile, showing off his elegant caffe latte brown and tan markings. Adults recoiled in horror from Ludwig, but children appreciated his charm, and there was usually an admiring group in front of his glass enclosure. I could swear he recognized me in the crowd, and was as happy to see me as a puppy wagging his tail.
A few months ago, I dropped in to visit Ludwig. He didn’t seem to be himself. His sturdy body was thin and frail, his chocolatey skin wasn’t shiny, and he slowly, painfully slithered to his water bowl to drink, obviously very thirsty. Museum staff had him checked by a reptile veterinarian, but nothing could be done.