remind me to remember

August 30th, 2022

Back in the early 90’s, my parents were determined to have a second kid. After having my sister in the late 80’s, they thought they were ready to take the challenge of child number 2. Years of unsuccessful attempts followed; and they had almost given up.

They decided to adopt a dog in hopes that it might brighten up their lives. And as any true 90’s kid would do, my sister named our first dog after Simba, the infamous cub in The Lion King - I was born not long after that.

He grew up with me and protected me through the years. When I was around 3 years old, my parents decided to move to a bigger apartment, right across the street. Simba and I weren’t so fond of the idea, and when we actually moved, my parents would find an angry baby and a bored dog sitting in front of the main door. Hoping someone would open it and bring us back to our old apartment. Instead, I would just be picked up and brought back to reality.

Simba and I eventually moved on and accepted that this was our new home. He would sleep under my cradle and every time someone would wake up, he would calmly greet them good morning and come back to his spot under me. I remember thinking Simba was like Nana from Peter Pan. Part dog, part babysitter. I should have nicknamed him Simbanana.

I grew older and so did he. When I was about 12, Simba began to show signs of age until he could barely walk or feed himself. Simba was a fluffy Bichon Frisé and he was the calmest of dogs. With his curly white fur and charcoal dark nose and eyes. He was adorable and usually mistaken for a female poodle. Seeing him give in to old age was extremely painful, daily.

I remember him stumbling around, and falling. Not being able to come back up. We had to feed him ourselves and clean him multiple times a day , after he peed or pooped while lying down.

In one sunny afternoon, around 12:30 o’clock, I arrived home. I got out of the elevator and the door to our kitchen was open. I saw my mom tearing up and being comforted by our maid. There’s a man carrying Simba away. My mom said he was supposed to have come earlier so I would still be in school and not have to see this. I managed to say a quick goodbye before he left in that stranger's arms. Simba was being put down.

It wasn’t until this moment, writing this entry, that I realized how big of a trauma that was. My mom almost robbed me of my farewell to my first friend in this world. Yet somehow, I’m still fond of this memory. I love Simba and to see him suffer every day and slowly give in to nature was torturing, to all of us. If I had been five minutes late, I wouldn't have got to say goodbye.

This memory gives me hope, that he is happy somewhere peaceful, where he still gets to protect me by my bed. That he’s still there with me when I want to leave and come back home. My mom was emotionally destroyed. We were all affected by the absence of Simba, but I remember my mom just being in bed for days, with the curtains down. I can honestly tell you that even our pet parrot missed him - parrots are very emotional creatures.

My dad couldn’t stand the pain of seeing my mom in such a state anymore and he asked me to join him on a ride, and I would come home with another furry best friend as a gift for her.

- Ms. Rodwell