The Sound of Silence

Five days after I wrote my last post, the unthinkable happened. 

12 days after Gomez had to leave us. 

31 weeks after Porter left us.

9 months and 3 days since Howard died traumatically seizing. 


In such a short time, our house is like a tomb. You can hear a pin drop. 

No sound of flat faced noses breathing air thru tiny nostrils. No jingling tags. No food, no water, no potty, no medicine. No feeling eyes staring in your direction as you eat your meal. No wags at the door as you enter. No snuggles. No back scratches or bellyrubs.

The refrigerator running seems so loud. Was the icemaker that noisy before? 

I keep waiting to hear something. I keep looking for them. I look at their pictures. The videos. Just to see them. To remember. To cry. 

The pain must be felt. It needs to be until I can begin to let go of it. 

I have moments where I cry so hard, missing them. ALL of them. Even though it's been 9 months and 3 days, 31 weeks, 2 weeks and 5 days. 

I feel like nobody understands. You really can't, not being in my shoes. Nobody can feel this pain. It is for me to carry, until my heart can let is go.

The morning of August 18th was bright and fresh. Toby was not. He decided this was the day. His day to leave us. He wouldn't eat or drink. He had a hard time walking. Pain was visible on his face. I had never seen that look on his face before, in the over 13 years he lived with us. 

I couldn't believe it, so soon after Gomez. 12 days. 12 damn days. 

Not fair, not fair, my head kept screaming inside. More time, please more time! I can't do this!! Not already! Not so soon...

But our little old man would not be allowed to suffer, suffer for our selfishness. We had to do what was right. Because we loved him. 

When we got him he was less than a pound, all 9 weeks of him. His body was snow white, his ears black and brown, his eyes dark and round, his hair fluffy. I learned from a lady in rescue he had "the dreaded cottony coat" which meant his hair flew everywhere when he got a haircut and matted more easily. It also meant he was so soft to touch. So, so soft.

As he aged, his ears lighter and lighter til they had only streaks of grey and tan. 

He had a pekingese like face, flatter than the usual Shih Tzu, and the most adorable underbite. In his later years, after having so many dental cleanings for all those teeth crammed in that tiny mouth, he had one tooth remaining on the bottom front. It could be seen protruding most of the time and was the cutest thing.

He loved to beg. He'd get into your dish as soon as you turned your back. I blamed the hypothyroidism and Cushing's disease. He didn't care, he was hungry! 

He loved to run the Shih Tzu 500 (his version of the Indy 500) around the house. When he was younger he played fetch. He liked soft, latex, squeaky toys. He would hold the toy in his mouth and squeak and squeak. 

When he wanted out, or food or water he barked. And barked. Until you gave him what he wanted. If you ignored him, distracted, he'd bat the bowls around until you finally got the hint. 

He had an adorable little strut we called his prance. The day before he died he pranced for us. He didn't look ready to die. 

After he finished his dinner he proceeded down the hallway to clean his face on the carpet. This consisted of a couple minutes of rubbing both sides of his face on the rug. It was a habit he did religiously, though we never knew why. He cleaned his face the night before like everything was normal. 

On June 6th, our vet told me Toby had a tumor on his spleen. It looked like it had infiltrated his liver. There was no hope. Surgery might give him a little more time but it might also shorten his life. Take him home and enjoy him. Let him eat what he wants. If he doesn't want to take his medicine, that's okay. 

I told myself I wanted him to make it until his two legged siblings came, his brother in August, his sister in September. He made it halfway thru his brother's visit. He got to say goodbye.

We had two months with him. Two precious months. And for that only gratitude. As I grieve. As I mourn. 

It will never be the same. 

And then there was one.

Sometimes I feel I have an amazing sense of smell.

Along with that comes the down side: Smells can be overwhelming to me.

Years ago, I was diagnosed with chemical sensitivities. From what I've heard, people who have them can feel the effects of odors more acutely. I certainly notice that in myself. The smell of a cigarette chokes me and burns my nose and throat. I feel my airway tightening. I may wheeze and require a puff or two of albuterol. Perfumes also do this, as do air fresheners. That new car smell does it too. My eyes burn and I get a headache. My skin can itch and when my problem was severe, I got tiny hives on my skin and dermatographia. I got bronchitis and pneumonia. It wasn't until all the Partylite candles, Bath and Body works, heavily scented laundry detergents and toiletries left the house that I could start to heal.

One of my chemical sensitivities is to formaldehyde which is in many fragrances as well as in tobacco smoke. My son likes to tell a funny anecdote about how I smelled the cigarette smoke in someone else's car as we were driving. He still doesn't believe I did. He thinks I'm crazy.

So me and my hyperactive sense of smell were travelling down a back road a few days ago when all of a sudden, the smell hit me. There had been logging on the side of this road and there was a pile of wood debris. A man was on a small bulldozer, scraping the ground. Instantly, I was transported back to the age of 18. The smell of balsam pitch and cedar impregnated into the clothes of someone I knew who worked in the woods. How I love that smell. I wish I could bottle it.

I don't know how it is with other people but for me, smells can bring me back in time.

My Chicago grandparents had a certain odor to their kitchen, especially when you opened their cabinets. They've been gone many years, but a couple times since then I've smelled that smell in someone else's house. I wish I could explain the smell but I can't. It's not pleasant or unpleasant, but I know it when I smell it.

I drive past a farm and think of the livestock at the fair that happens every August. I go to that fair and think of my horses, gone so many years. The smells of fireworks on the 4th of July make me think of sparklers and those snakes you would light as a child. That sulfur smell is heaven to my nose. I loved the black marks they left on the sidewalk.

Dog paws smell like Fritos. Have you ever heard that? Don't believe me, take a sniff. That was one of my last thoughts a week ago today. To smell Gomez's paw one last time. I wish I had thought to do it sooner because, once he left his body only a very faint corn chip smell remained.

A week has gone by so quickly. I still miss him at the foot of my bed. Following me around the house. My little shadow. I've had a couple days that I haven't cried.

He was such a large part of my life and I miss him. It's that simple.

I think Toby does too.

Our vet is an hour away. I held Gomez in my arms and on my lap all the way home. When we got there, my husband carried him in and gently laid him on the floor. Toby smelled him all around his body. When he was done, he gave me a good smell up and down my legs as I sat on the floor. Once he was satisfied, he walked away.

He's always been so independent (unless we were camping - then he was all, "you're not leaving me behind here, not in this camper, no way!!"). At home he didn't give a shit. Lately he has only wanted to be left alone, getting agitated and upset when disturbed.

Until Gomez died, that is.

Ever since then our little grumpy old man has been so clingy. He gazes at me as I cook, sitting where Gomez sat on the rug. He follows me around the house. He sleeps at my feet or at my side. He's constantly seeking my eye contact.

It's almost like he knows what I need.

Maybe it's what he needs too.