Lennon died in my arms last night.

Lennon died in my arms last night.

The thing is, he didn't really have to, and if I had somehow realized what was happening just a little bit sooner, or we hadn't done the surgery, he might not have died at all.

But we tried to do the right thing. We really did.

Lennon was one of four in a litter of brothers, and we brought them all home in January 2006. When I say "we" I mean my daughter Lauren and I. The rest of the family like animals well enough, but the "boys" were mine and Lauren's. No question.

We named them on the way home from the rescue shelter. Ciello for the grey clouds of that day and the grey on his fur. Angelo, for the boy who was funny and quick and just a bit nearsighted. Dante' for the handsome studious one with the dashing stripe on his face. And Lennon, for John, of course and because he seemed so wise and he was so beautiful, and his fur was softest of all.

We loved all the boys but Lennon, well, he became our favorite quickly. Some days when I was stressed and wiped out, Lauren would carry him to me and say, "Here mom, you always feel better after holding Lennon." And I would. I would indeed.

Lennon had a tumor before. It started out small but grew quickly. We had it removed earlier this year and it was very traumatic for him and also for me and Lauren. The incision was so big and was hard to keep wrapped. We literally spent nights not sleeping, to make sure he did not bite out his stitches and bleed to death. Those weeks of convalescence only made Lennon more loving and more wise and more dear to our hearts.

He learned new games like hide and seek, and had VERY specific places to stash his special toys we kept nearby to keep him entertained while watching him.

So when we found a new tumor a couple of weeks ago we were very worried and concerned. Last week Lauren had me check, and sure enough, it had doubled or more in size in just a couple of days. We consulted the vet. Together, we all decided to remove the tumor immediately, while it was very small, so that hopefully Lennon could manage the surgery easier.

He was scheduled first thing Friday morning. I picked him up that afternoon. Right away I knew something was wrong, he was acting "different" than he did the first time post op. The staff, and I do not fault them for their thinking, told me his behavior was consistent with the meds and the event of surgery.

I held him in my lap the whole way home.

I never put him down for a second. Not after calling the vet a couple of hours later, and worrying and crying, and having my husband race to the emergency after hours vet clinic. I even tried to breathe for him, when I was sure he had stopped, just two blocks from the ER.

Racing inside the clinic I saw the entire room filled with people, their hands on crates and leashes. I was crying and saying how sorry I was but Lennon was not breathing...and I insisted on rushing to the front of the line. They took his limp little body from mine immediately, but I already knew he was either dead or very close to it. They soon brought me to a room, and then came in and said "We are so sorry."

There really is pain...isn't there? A realy physical agony of sudden grief? We stood in the little room only a minute or two longer, waiting for them to bring Lennon back.

A nice little old lady patted my shoulder while I was slowly walking out the door, quietly crying and carrying my still warm little Lennon. She had tears in her eyes. I don't know if they were there for me, Lennon, or for her and her pet or for all of us. But I am grateful for her words, "I am so sorry."

The worst part of all was driving home, knowing I had to tell Lauren, who was at that moment, playing in a musical competition. Hours passed before I could let her know. She had played well enough to move on to round two in her region. Her joyous announcement would be cut short with this terrible, sad news about her beloved Lennon.

We picked Lauren up from the band hall and I held her in the back seat of the truck while she processed the shock and began to weep. We cried and I stroked her hair and told her everything that happened. I told her I kissed our boy 500 times and 300 times were for her...and when we got home we buried Lennon. We wrapped him in his favorite fleece bed and put in his favorite feather toys and put fresh white lilies into the box next to his little body.

Watching the box go into the ground, and our tears dropping along side of it I could not help but remember when Lauren first asked me, years ago, if she could have a pet rat.

A PET RAT???

I literally almost vomited my lunch.

Everyone knows rats were vermin. Everyone knows they were disgusting creatures that bore disease and were vile things worthy only of extermination. Everyone knows rats were vicious, biting, scary and ugly rodents.

Who knew that in reality, domesticated rats can be wonderful, loyal, loving pets? Who knew that that the actual facts are that they are smart, clean, play games and are litter box trainable? Who knew their fur smells like grape soda, they can learn their names and that scientists have proven they actually giggle when people play with them? Who knew that above all else, domesticated rats want nothing more than the physical loving touch of a human being?

My life, and my daughter's life are richer by far, for having known and loved, our beautiful beautiful boy Lennon. We will miss him terribly. We will miss his little kisses and snuffles in our ears, the way he LOVED the tiny pancakes we cooked for him, the way he kept me company on my shoulder while I folded laundry, the wise little eyes looking softly deeply and quietly into our own.

Lennon 2006-2007

Rest in Peace Lennon. We will remember you always, and we will miss you every single day we have left on this earth.

 

Comments

[Jamie Sue]

Rats are such good people. I'm sorry for your loss.

[Candace]

Jamie,
I was thinking that as I ended my post. If people were only half as good as my Lennon...

Thank you. Your words mean a lot at this time.

[Lenette]

So sorry for your loss. One of my girlfriends has a pet rat and loves it so much, she got another. I'm sorry I can't relate to rats.

[Candace]

Ah Lenette, you are not alone. I myself would have been mystified only a few years ago.

In any case I appreciate your words of sympathy.

Thank you.