My mother had a little Scottie dog when she died. Afterward Mac lived first with my daughter and then two years with me where he learned old dogs can learn new tricks, but I digress. I was in my home office one day when he suddenly began acting very strange and appeared in distress. The vet is one mile from my house, and Mac took his last little breath on his table about ten minutes later. The vet said it was a massive stroke or heart attack. We had him cremated, and he was returned to us in a lovely wooden box and velvet bag. Since he had been my mother’s dearest little friend, my kids and I decided it would be appropriate to reunite them.
The first opportunity was Easter Sunday, and Jess, Cameron and I visited the country cemetery with Mac and some tulips. You are allowed to plant flowers in this particular cemetery, just to be clear. The plan was to disguise our little outing as nothing more than that. Jess and Cameron opened the trunk expecting to see a trowel, but were distressed to see, what they vociferously claimed was, the biggest shovel in the world. There was no one else around, so they sighed in unison and Cameron began digging. With the first shovel full, Easter visitors began arriving en masse, and, of course, they were all visiting our little section of the cemetery. Cameron stopped digging, looked around and then at me, asking, “I don’t suppose you got permission for us to be doing this?” I answered him non-verbally, which immediately prompted a follow-up query, “Exactly how many laws are we breaking right now?” Jess said, “Just dig.” A few minutes later the shovel clanged hard on something in the ground. Cameron jumped a foot (and screamed like a girl according to his sister). We said, “She’s much deeper than that.” He pulled out a rock, and we escaped to the car a short time later. We knew my mother was happy. If you visit in the spring, you’ll see some very lovely pink tulips, and that is all.
On a related note, you know how they say animals can sense death? When my mother died, Jess and I were by her bedside; Mac and my dog, Oliver, were penned up in the kitchen because they had been agitated and in the way. My mother took what we considered many last breaths, with monumentally long pauses in between. After each, she eventually gasped and breathed yet again. The dogs, on the other side of the house, were quiet throughout the ordeal. Suddenly, my mother had another breath, and the dogs instantly went crazy, howling like nothing you’ve ever heard on this earth. It was a hellish noise that continued until we were forced to leave her and settle them down. This cacophony was heard outside the house by the neighbors (windows and doors were closed). The neighbor next door said when she heard those dogs, she knew my mother had died. She described the din as horrible sounding; said it sent a chill through her. Yes, it had been my mother’s very last breath. So, how did Mac and Oliver know? She had been breathing like that for at least a half hour. They were several rooms away, could not see her. All those breaths sounded the same to Jess and me. I will never forget it, and I have no logical explanation.
You have me transfixed! And It does open up a Pandora’s Box about the myths and facts about death the portents of which are nothing short of chilling.