A bird in the bush... is best left in the bush

Pooper’s gone and I miss her already. I decided she was a she without googling pics of pigeon anatomy.

She had fallen off the window ledge where her mother had built her nest, into the bushes below, either because of excessive fidgeting or because she was attacked by a predator. And my daughter happened to be among the witnesses to this tragic fall.
My daughter, one of two daughters, to whom I had refused ownership of dogs, cats, mice, squirrels – sentient creatures of any size and shape. Not even plants, for that matter.
(Commitment issues.)

Dear Shubhanker,

When we drank tea together at your place on the evening of New Year's Eve, and when we laughed on the phone on Saturday night,  I never suspected that you were going to pull a fast one on me.
Coming at the end of a long year of heavy losses and at the beginning of a year when hope was renewed, you have dealt me a bitter blow. You, my trusted friend, who has held my hand through many a dark day. You, who have allowed me to offer you some strength and support during your troubled times.

Will I never drink your too-milky tea again?
Will I never again smile at your flashy shoes?
Are you never again going to try and talk me into colouring my hair or tell me to get down to my paper corrections?