Lies

I'll remember

Thursday, April 4, 2013 | 11:44 AM | by

There will be no Silly today, and there will be no comic tomorrow.

Yesterday morning, our beloved and precious dog Simon passed away suddenly from complications due to his ongoing battle with a collapsing trachea. He was six years old.

Many of you will remember that in January, Simon had a big surgery to support his airway and let him breath comfortably. We nearly lost him then, but the surgery was a success, and we ended up buying him some more time with us. A couple of extra months, every day of which we cherished.

We knew as soon as he was diagnosed with this disease that someday it was going to take him from us. There is no cure for a collapsing trachea. Still, we were never going to be completely ready to say goodbye to him; a hundred years with Simon still would not have been enough.

My wife and I are absolutely devastated. The more you love someone, the more painful it is when they leave you, and we loved Simon fiercely. We spent yesterday dealing with alternating waves of overwhelming grief and exhausted numbness, and I expect much of today will be the same. He was a constant, amazing source of joy for our family, and for such a little guy he's left an enormous hole in our lives.

I'm not going to recount or dwell on the details of his passing here; it seems irrelevant at this point. But I will happily dwell on and remember the six wonderful years that we got to spend with Simon, and how much love and affection he shared with us.

I'll remember bringing him home for the first time, and how scared Kaylee was of this new little furball running around her house.

I'll remember giving Simon his very first bath, and keeping him warm afterwards.

I'll remember the way that when he panted, he would curl his toungue back into his mouth... it looked like a little fruit roll-up.

He used to like to sleep under the covers, and so he would paw at our shoulders until we lifted up the sheets for him. Then he'd wriggle his way down to the small of our backs, or the bend in our knees and snuggle up all warm and toasty.

I'll remember how so very much in love with Britanny he was. I'm fortunate to work from home, and so I got to spend all day with Simon. But when she came home from work, there was nobody more important in the world. About the time she would get home, he'd park himself at the stairs and stare at the door waiting for her. He followed her everywhere. When she went to bed, he went to bed. He was so protective of her, and always wanted to be near her.

I'll remember and cherish the way he used to like to sleep on my shoulders when I sat at the computer (or any chair with a high back, really). The people at the vet's office called him my "little parrot", because he always perched himself on my shoulders while we were in the waiting room.

I'll remember his ears, and they way they always stood straight up, like antennae. Whenever we took him places, everybody always stopped us to comment on his ears.

Simon was only here for an all-too-short six years, but I'm grateful that we were the ones that got to spend that time with him. We have no regrets; we went to the absolute ends of medical science to try and give him every opportunity for a long and comfortable life. I know that there was nothing more we could have done for him. And I know that, eventually, once time has worn the sharp edges off of this grief, that the incredible six years of memories we have with him will far, far outweigh the pain we're feeling right now. It doesn't alleviate the sorrow in the moment, but I take comfort in knowing that while he was with us, he was happy and he was loved. And the amount of happiness and love he gave us back is immeasurable.

I will miss my little buddy for the rest of my life.