By Fred Prout
They don’t make noise. You can walk in the door and not hear a thing.
Maybe you can feel a presence. But no sound. The footpads on the carpet are silent. You close the door and feel a gentle nudge. It makes you aware of a second heartbeat. An aura of unconditional love pervades the room. Not a sound. Just an overwhelming sense of togetherness. The silence interrupted by the occasional clinking of a pair of metal tags. “I’m here! I love you! Pet me”. You read, watch tv, go to bed. You don’t hear the breaths. The snores. You are aware of them and are comforted by them.
Sooner than you want, the dreaded day comes. The day to do the necessary. What’s right. No matter how painful. The right thing. If you are extremely fortunate, you have a loved one with you. To share the tears. The grief. To hold you. To be held. To accompany you home. So you don’t hear the silence. Alone.
But, fate, as it will, makes certain that you soon open that door. Alone. The silence screams. It is overpowering in its intensity. It roars. You can’t avoid it.
The room contains almost fifteen years of memories. Shared walks, trips, visits, love. The memories assail you. Screaming silently. The more you cared, the louder the screams of silence.
R.I.P Kelly. 4/15/08 -3/14/23. You brought happiness to all you met.