by Song
My Sweet Little Boy
None of you knew him (obviously) like I did, my sweet deaf little 8year old boy. Those who do not understand our feelings of endearment would call him a cat, an Odd Eyed British White to use their exact incorrect, inappropriate terminology.
You see he was none of these things to us that knew him, his spirit, his true inner being, he was my son, my child, my sweet little boy. His name is not was Bowie, hell never be a was in my eyes, heart or mind, just as your child, friend, beloved shall never be to you.
Seven months ago in August of 98 a lump was removed from his side, it was the beginning of the end although we didnt know it, but only in the physical sense of our friendship. On the 28th of March 1999, less then four days of finding out he may have only weeks to live due to the rapid spread and growth of cancer around his lungs and left eye (previously undetectable), Bowie died, on that beautiful Sunday afternoon. I tell you this so you understand what I now tell you of the unselfishness and the last wonderful acts of love my baby gave to myself and the rest of his family.
I will never see him or others like him as pets they are not, they are an extension of the family unit as a whole. Bowie as I have said is my child; he has a sister Snuffy, a father, grandparents, and an uncle and auntie who lost both their children CC and Both to cancer.
I interrupt myself here to go off on a tangent with my grief, but it seems to tell the true side of my pain and of Bowie, his life to the end, there after, and the gentle kindness of love that he gave to all that met him. You see I know I may offend some and I except that I maybe wrong, but there is no God. How could there be a God that lets criminals walk free to venge their hateful cruelties on humanity, but strikes down the most innocent of creatures with such violent passion? How could he do that to my sweet innocent baby to yours? I hope I am wrong and Bowie, with his cousins is happy somewhere in a place much kinder, sweeter and forgiving than this, like he was. But now I know I am wrong, for there must be a God, who lost a son, who shall come back to save us, and Ive met him, Ive shared eight glorious years with him, and I named him Bowie.
The return of Christ is supposed to be the savoir, Bowie was that, maybe not to all humanity but definitely to all those he touched. Well before his illness Bowie helped and comforted, when I was down he was there with a gentle lick or nudge. If you pushed him away, he would keep coming back until you would cry and hug him or laugh at his antics, and then he would only leave to sit by you and gently purr. He would hold your arm in his paws as you slept and snuggle up to you letting you know he was near and it would be all right. At a point in my life when suicide seemed the only solution it was Bowie who saved my life, it was he who made me feel safe and loved me unconditionally and was able to let me see what I would be leaving behind. It was he who has sat with me through long nights of study, and purred me to sleep through flus and heartaches, it is he who has shown me what love and true friendship are more than any human ever could. His love for life and myself didnt stop there, he re-united in his last days not only the human side of his family but gave us all such a greater understanding of our loses, our hopes and of life.
On the Saturday prior his father and I decided to separate, Bowie sat nearby and I know wonder how much my deaf little boy heard and or sensed. Through the following week Bowies trips to the vet united us up to the next Saturday where Bowie and I packed bags to go stay from our flat to his fathers house. In this time, I had called my parents so they could see him for maybe the last time. Bowie seemed excited at the new house and the large windows to look out from, and was elated with the trips to the backyard. From seeming so close to the abyss only hours before he was back to his usual happy self, this included a game of tag throughout the house, well obviously! Restless later in the evening I sat with him near the fire (it had been cold and rainy), I spoke suddenly of my brother to my babys dad and although my brother and I had not spoken for many years decided it would be the right thing to phone them and see if they wished to visit Bowie. they did. After the call Bowie ate and settled down for a nap until bedtime and the bliss of a feather quilt that he had never before seen. That next morning it was like he knew people were coming to see him as he paced back and forth to the door as I often do when waiting for people. An hour before everyone arrived Bowie and I went outside to walk in the garden, being an indoor dweller all his life he was on a harness that he walked me with! Once everyone was there he went to his aunt, grandmother, grandfather, father, and then uncle. My baby walked them all around as if showing them all the wonders he had seen and sharing them with each of us, he ended each trip by scratching on a tree hed found in the corner of the yard. Once all the wonders were seen and everyone had shared in the de-barking ritual he turned around and led us all inside, it would have been about 2.15pm.
We sat, drank coffee, held general conversation, and mainly spoke of how well my baby was looking and acting, especially seeing he was about to finish off a large bowl of his favorite meat, this was about 3.50pm. At 4.45pm everyone was leaving, we had all had a lovely day, the sun was shining, the weather warm, Bowie was smiling, and albeit from a tragedy, we were reunited. By 5pm Bowie was at the vets, at approximately 5.30pm my baby lay dead in my arms, he had had a stroke. He gave every thing he had yet again to those who loved him, and as I sit and write this now I cannot believe anything else but he did it for me. I was not making his last days comfortable and nice, he was doing that for me. He knew what he was doing Im sure, he reunited a family, he gave us hope and his love, and held on and fought with the last of his strength to make sure that we received these blessings. Now you dare tell me my little boy was not a savior, a God, just as each of your dearest have been to you in the time they were here with us.
I know you do not know my Bowie like I do, but you each have your own and maybe they are small saviors sent in this form of wonderful pure love. I do know that every where I am and each night I go to bed hes with me, still watching over me, and I will honor him and what I believe were his last wishes for myself and our family.
You see, he is my Bowie, my sweet little angle, my baby, my son.
In dedication to the purest soul and love Ive ever known.
Rest well sweetheart and know Ill always love you.
Your mother and friend,
Song