I don't share this with anyone, but when I was about 6, I had a pet mouse called zack. he wasn't my first pet, but he was a treasured pet

when he died, I did cry, and I was devistated. we ended up burying him outside (I couldn't bare life without him), and I somehow thought that the fresh clean air would somehow be good for him and he'll come back and be just as good as he was before he died.

every day I went to see him hoping he would, and I did that for many, many years.

of course, he never did

but that's how I coped with it