Coping With The Ashes

I made my first post a few weeks ago when I lost my dog of 16 years (AKA, my whole life). Zizi died while I was away and I worked myself into a rut over it, at first. I've been steadily improving, keeping busy, but still coming to the message board, if not replying, just reading.

But since my dog's ashes came back, I've had a really bad time. I don't know if anyone else has had this problem, but my mother didn't want me to come home and see the little urn just sitting on the kitchen counter, so she put them in her closet and told me that whenever I was ready, I could take them out and she would put the ashes in the urn we had made for him.

Only I haven't been able to do it. I cleaned a spot in my room for him, next to my dresser, where he slept when he wasn't sleeping on my bed. I ordered a little keepsake chest to keep his things in like his AKC certificates, pictures, and tags. I have everything ready... but I can't take the ashes out of the closet.

I'll go in, look at the little box, then start crying. I get so upset, I can't even move. I'll sit with it there in my hands, but I can never bring myself to walk out of the closet holding that little thing and I keep thinking "He can't fit in this." I realize that's a little crazy, but I can't seem to stop myself. It distresses me so much.

My mom keeps telling me to take my time, but I feel bad about leaving him in there. It feels like I'm ignoring what's there, even though I still think about him every day.

My Whole Life Is Different

I've been to this website a lot over the past few weeks, some of the stories here have made me cry more than I already do, but this is my first post.

Zizi was a pure-bred Shih Tzu and my parents bought him for me when I was about 16 months old. My mom always says he was small enough to fit in her hand when she bought him and was so cute, she knew she just had to get him and even borrowed money from my Aunt to do it. Because she helped pay for him, my Aunt named him Azizi, which means "precious" in Ibo. But we just called him Zi or Zizi.

I was too young to remember, but when she first brought him home, I didn't understand he was a little living thing. I accidentally squeezed him a little hard, but after I learned how to play with him, I never stopped.

I had my dog my entire life until now. When my parents divorced, when we moved out of the house I grew up in, when my grandmother died, Zizi was always like a rock for me and could comfort me even if I were otherwise inconsolable. He was never trained and always had free run of the house. He practically lived like a temple dog, which is what Shih Tzu's were bred for.

He liked Pepsi, though he only had it twice by accident. Anytime someone opened a can, he'd beg for it.

When no one else would deal with the little brat, I would, because I am one myself. When my grandmother died, Zizi (who was also attached to her) started sleeping in my room because we both needed the extra comfort. He liked to lick people and would do it incessantly. He liked to have his belly rubbed all the time and would roll on his side the moment someone showed any interest in him.

My freshman year of high school, possibly the worst year of my life, was bearable because I had my dog with me. The thought that no matter what happened, ZIzi would still be there for me, kept me from true isolation and depression that year and made my life better every year afterwards.

Zizi died at the vet's office while I was away in Arizona. He was about 16 years old, and I had been expecting his death but it still caught me off-guard completely. We were raised together, so I don't remember any point in my life until now where I didn't have my dog with me. I was his main caretaker, he slept in my bed, I fed him, and walked him. Aside from my mom, who occasionally offers her sympapthy, nobody else in the house seems to notice or care that he's gone, but I've been coming home after school and crying for nearly two weeks.

I don't like being around people with dogs anymore. I stopped talking to one of my friends because she's always playing with her three dogs when I call her. I'm feeling burned-out all the time, though I can never fall asleep, and I can't concentrate on my school work.

I had always wanted to be there when he went, and I suppose that's what keeps me up at night. I knew I'd cry, but I never really expected it to be this bad. I miss my little boy, he loved everyone, but as equals in his little kingdom, not as "masters" or "owners." He knew I was not the greatest person ever, but still loved me. I loved him back and the hardest thing in the world to get used to life without him.

Me and Zizi (1989)