The day my grandmother died… and took my dog

A fictional true story

“I’d like a companion,” my grandmother said.

In all the stories I’ve heard and read about near-death experiences, it’s always been about a person traveling alone through a tunnel towards a bright light. I’ve never heard of someone requesting a companion for their journey.

“Who do you have in mind?” I asked, selfishly hoping it wasn’t me. My to do list was too long for me to leave. The dishwasher was full and the kids still needed school supplies.

“Your dog.”

Alvin? Alvin is a chihuahua corgi mix I brought home from the pound after he had been deemed “un-adoptable.” I was volunteering at the time, cleaning cat cages and walking dogs. Alvin refused to be hooked on a leash. After getting frustrated with him and moving on to the other dogs in his pen, Alvin came over and licked my hand. It was a clear sign: “If you love me, I will love you, forever and ever.”

Alvin had been at the shelter for over six months after being rescued from a breeder/hoarder who had more than 100 uncared for dogs in her possession. He was timid, not house-trained, wary of people, likely to bite and unproven with cats. So of course I brought him home to my family that day. My husband 1) was totally not surprised and 2) asked me to please stop volunteering.

Working with Alvin over time, we were able to rein in many of his bad behaviors. But he refused to be house trained. He was more than happy to wear doggie diapers like capes and lay around the house in the superman pose, enjoying the sun and relaxation that comes without having to be inconvenienced by going outside to pee.

“Yes, Alvin.”

My grandmother was a strict grandmother. The word “shut up” was a swear word in her house. You didn’t wear hats during a meal — that was a sign of disrespect and she took it as a personal affront. And elbows on her dinner table were likely to be met with a quick rap to the knuckles from a butter knife. She was a strict grandmother and I was an obedient granddaughter.

But this request was too much.

My grandmother was 95 years old and ready to enter the next stage of her soul’s journey. Her body was weakening and the doctors had told us it wouldn’t be long.

“But, I’m attached to my dog. I love him. He’s only 3 years old. I need him and he needs me.” Nothing felt right about this.

As in many life and death matters, I ultimately wasn’t given a choice. Yesterday, I was awakened at 3 a.m. by a call from my vet; Alvin was leaving this earth. Several hours later, my mom notified me that grandmother had left too. It turns out, they left at the same time.

Doing yard work later that day, reflecting on all of this death, I sweat in the Texas heat and cried and sweat some more. My face was covered in salty water and my neck and chest itched from the rivers making paths down my body. I wondered: does everyone get a dog escort on their journey into the afterlife? Every time a dog dies, does it mean that they were called to be a companion for the dying? That would certainly ease the transition from one world to another… and reinforce my belief in a loving God.

My grandmother loved to go on long rides. For many years, she had a VW camper and went on trips all over the country. It quieted and contented her to be on the road. I can still see her clearly, silver bracelets and rings clanging against the steering wheel. The smell of Doublemint gum ever present. On many of those trips, she took my childhood dog, a Dachshund named Cinnamon. She always remarked what a great companion Cinnamon was.

My grandmother and Alvin had never met. Yet they died the same day, the same hour. My grandmother’s death was expected. But Alvin was young and healthy, and his death was sudden. I struggled to understand why.

As I ponder this question, the image that comes to me is of the two of them in the camper. My grandmother at the wheel and Alvin, her dutiful co-captain, wearing a superman cape. They are on the greatest road trip there ever was, or ever could be. Her jewelry dangles on her arm as she reaches over to pet him, and Alvin responds by licking her hand.