Please note: There may be spelling and grammatical errors but do to the nature of this post, I believe it is safe to say that you will completely understand the irrelevance of them and Grammar Nazis’. ~S.
31st March 2017, 02:40
I find myself in the early hours of a Friday morning, in the past or rather the future if you so wish to call it, writing this letter while outside my closed and concealed tomb is the war cry of a tiny, grey cat and the steady clip, clopping of feet with nails slightly too long.
The clip, clopping of feet belong to no other than The Humog and is otherwise known fondly as Billy. Just like both you and I have gotten to know him being referred to for quite a while and with the gentle sounds of snoring and the complimentary routine check on those occupying the house, I write this letter.
Something of which I must admit, comes after spending the last four hours trying to fight off the inevitable whilst trying to selfishly put a stop to time. Something of course as we both know that time will continue to tick away before ultimately the thing I wish to prevent from happening will exactly do that. Happen.
Much to our bitter disappointment, complete and utter disgust alongside the shattering of five souls and those who have been truly touched by a simple nudge of the head, deeply impacting stare into a pair of beautiful brown eyes or a simple lick on the leg or hand to remind you, ‘I’ve got your back’.
Even if you are a complete tosser at heart and know full well that when the parents do come home, you’ve dug yourself a grave this time with the antics you have gotten up to. Some of which are classified details and others have promptly lead to smuggling a four legged animal into the house, under the pretext of protection and waking up the next morning to them in bed with you and under the blankets as well.
Like my brother Frodo would say when reflecting back on our childhood days and memories, “The good ol’ days”.
Speaking of the good ol’ days and the fond memories I have growing up with my siblings, The Humog alongside our 22+ chickens and 20 acres of tumble weeds in the middle of nowhere, I don’t know exactly where the fiction crossed the line into non-fiction and dream/fantasy became reality?
There is a part of me that wishes I could write something more upbeat, disgustingly floaty and sickly when it comes to writing these particular sentences that are going to come next. Yet, there is that part of me that is completely reserved from it all and find myself telling myself in an almost robotic, monotone of a voice, “that it is a part of life. Especially when it comes to loving something or someone with the essence of who you are as a person”.
While at the same time, once again confirming that I’m a complete tosser and I need to start thinking like a human being with emotions and not like a nurse with limited emotions. Particularly when trying to distance myself from what is about to be said and done and even more so, when it comes to dealing, confronting and emotionally connecting with all aspects of death.
As I let The Humog out for another perimeter check of the house and the occupants, both you and I know that I am delaying the inevitable of having to think, write, say words. Words that are going to be in print for as long as this blog is relevant in my life and I am going to be truthful and honest and admit to struggling to find the words.
I just snorted at that sentence because I cannot even bring myself to tell a lie, to both you and no doubt the future me who’ll man up and read this post when the pain dies down. For I have the words inside of my head because they’re boiling away at the tips of my fingers and yet, I just want to live in the world of fiction for a few more minutes before it slips into the world of reality and having to deal with the consequences of transition.
Although in my current state of mind, I know this post won’t make a lot of sense but there is a part of me that is saying that is making sense while remaining truthful, I do apologise. However, you will gain an understanding in a couple of minutes time when I announce the reasoning behind the post and how it has impacted on my life dearly and greatly.
For those who have been with me since the get-go of A Stairway To Nurse’s Heaven, we have spent the last five years with one another discussing and discovering with much, the ins and outs of who runs the O’Chunky household and that being Mum, Dad and Bill… or so Mr. Billy thought before being demoted back to his original position on the pecking order.
As to those who stumbled across my name, blog and post due to the title, all I can say is: I wish you had been here from the beginning because Mr. Billy wasn’t just a dog. Rather, he was your best mate, co-conspirator to stealing another ice cream, begging you for a slice a bread that equalled 87 hamburgers or so the vet told us and gave the best darn hugs you could even want, while crying your eyes out like a little bitch.
All without a hint of judgement, anger or distrust.
I can honestly say after 12 years of being one of his incredibly fortunate and lucky mates, adopted sisters and thief of additional ice cream from the freezer (yes Mum, it was me!), I count myself pretty lucky to have parents who announced we were rescuing a dog and he would be coming home with us.
Knowing this is going to sound pretty stupid and have most of you rolling your damn eyes but for someone who has a close bond with their extended fury baby or family member that has four legs (whether it be a cat, dog or rat etc), you find yourself wanting to give them some friendly advice on what you hope will happen in the afterlife or you’ll think about them on a daily basis.
But as someone who is neither great with goodbyes or “until we meet again”, my parting words would be: “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t allow you to be in anymore pain. I love you and you are a Humog.”
At 03:53 on an early Friday morning, it is with great sadness and utmost difficulty that I announce of the passing of our beloved comrade and more-human-than dog, Mr. Billy Boy.
Because of this sad news and the personal grief I am currently and will be experiencing, I have opted to take some time off and will cease uploading any form of blog post on Scarlett O’Chunky, until I am ready. This may be a day, a week or a couple of months as I simply need time off to escape from the facade of Scarlett and the world that encompasses who she is and in return, walk amongst the sunflowers and sunshine as myself.
All that I ask before bringing this difficult post to a close is: if you have a loved one such as a human being, give them a call and if asked why you called, just say that you missed hearing their voice and you wanted to know how their day was. However, if they are four legged or no legged, that extra snack probably won’t kill them and if acceptable, an extra hug and pat will do both you and them a world of good.
Sleep tight Mr. Billy and see you on the other side.