What Happens When the Hamster Dies?
How We Can Help Our Kids Grieve With Hope
When my kids were young and on school breaks, we’d often frequent the pet store. They loved seeing all the animals, I loved seeing all the animals - it was a win-win. So, when they came to me one afternoon asking to visit the goldfish, I said,
“Sure, but we’re not getting anything.”
That’s what I always said.
Always.
As we approached those sliding glass doors, I went through our typical visit to the pet store ritual:
“Nothing this time, okay? No more pets. Got it?”
But somehow, inevitably, we leave with at least one living creature.
I can’t help it. I’m a softy when it comes to animals. I love them all. In my head, I imagine myself like this:
But my husband? He sees it more like this:
As much as I hate to admit it, our home often ended up looking more like his version. Over the years, I’ve absolutely contributed to the household menagerie. So it was no surprise that after our “quick trip” to the pet store to “just kill time,” we walked out with not one but two hamsters—along with two cages, two bags of food, bedding, toys (because rodents need toys, obviously), two wheels, and two food bowls.
We’re not getting anything, was what I said.
Within three days, the first hamster became sick and died. The next day, the second followed.
The emotional fallout was intense. You would have thought my youngest had raised these hamsters from birth. Just hours earlier, she had moved her hamster out of her room because it was “too annoying.” Now, she was heartbroken.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be happy again,” she moaned dramatically. “Why did God strike down these hamsters? Of ALL hamsters, why these? Whyyy?”
As the day wore on, I caught myself trying to tamp down her sadness—partly for my own sanity, but also because I didn’t want her to feel the weight of suffering, even if it was “just a hamster.”
But suffering has a way of showing up uninvited, even in childhood. And as parents, we have to decide whether we’ll shelter our kids from it—or shepherd them through it.
Helping Our Kids Grieve: Three Encouragements
1. Recognize That Everyone Grieves Differently
When our dog died, each of my kids handled grief in their own way:
One disappeared to the bedroom for the evening, needing space. Another needed all the facts—how, when, why. They even asked to go with my husband to the vet. The third couldn’t process without talking it out—every detail, every emotion, verbalized in real time.
I naturally resonated with one child’s style more than the others, and I found myself getting frustrated with the ones who didn’t grieve like me. But grief doesn’t follow a script. The valley of the shadow of death is walked differently by every sheep—but the same Shepherd leads them all.
When a child grieves, our job is to meet them where they are. If you’re a talker and your child is a thinker, give them the space they need. If they want to draw, write, cry, ask questions, or sit in silence—that’s okay. God made each of us unique, and the beauty of the body of Christ is that we can learn from one another, even in grief.
2. Review What the Bible Says About Death and Heaven
Growing up, my dad often talked to us about death and heaven. That might sound grim, but as an adult, I see what a gift it was. His openness gave me categories for grief—and a framework of hope.
It’s important our kids know that death isn’t how things are supposed to be. It’s not natural—it’s the painful result of a broken and sinful world. So while death is real, it’s not something we have to “make peace with.” And most importantly, death is not the end of the story for those who trust in Jesus.
I’ll never forget the silly but sincere dinner table conversations where we dreamed about the new heavens and new earth. One of my sisters once said she hoped heaven would include her very own Snoopy Snow Cone Machine.
What mattered was that my dad didn’t dismiss our dreams—he joined us in them. And then he gently reminded us: the greatest joy of heaven is not the fun or the feasting. It’s Jesus.
That’s why, when my dad took his final breath, the first words my mom whispered were, “Do you see Him?”
3. Reflect on Your Own Example
Paul writes, “We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13).
This doesn’t mean we grieve less. It means we grieve differently—with hope.
Our kids need to see that. They need to see that our faith doesn’t erase sorrow—but it transforms it. They need to watch us lean on God when we’re hurting. They need to hear us cry out to Jesus, not just teach about Him. They need to know it’s okay to cry and to believe. The two can coexist.
The night the first hamster died, I happened to be watching an old home video of one of my childhood Christmases. My youngest curled up beside me as we watched the smiling faces of my parents, grandparents, and great-aunt and uncle—many of whom were with Jesus. The camera even caught a few of our own childhood pets (proof that I come by this love of animals honestly).
Sensing my emotion, my daughter looked up at me and said, “Are you going to cry, Mom? It’s okay if you cry. Just remember… we have Jesus.”
Amen and amen.
Until the day Jesus returns and makes all things new, may we hold fast to the hope we have in Him. And by God’s grace, may we help our children do the same—even when the hamsters die.