We lost our dog this past July, and the shock still lingers. She was young and seemingly healthy, so her sudden passing took us all by surprise. One day, she was her lively self, barking at the Amazon truck, and the next, we found ourselves at the emergency vet.
Our grief has been profound, especially since not everyone in the family got to say goodbye. She had regular check-ups, medication, and pet insurance, so we never expected this outcome. Each of us is grieving in our own way; there’s no manual for it. My youngest and I finally put away her crate, toys, and dog bed, saying our final goodbyes to her space in our home. Other family members chose a toy to keep as a memento. As for me, I find myself somewhere in between.
While the house is now free of her toys, my car still holds her presence—her nose prints on the back windows remain, offering a bittersweet comfort every time I get in.
I’ve been asked if I’ll get another dog. I probably will, but not yet. I’m not ready for the final goodbye and the full letting go. She was my companion for seven years, a mirror to my feelings, and a source of comfort when I lost my hearing.
We cherish the wonderful memories of her life filled with walks, treats, and endless love. She is missed every day. I’m almost ready to let go, but not quite—just lingering in that space of grief. It truly is a funny thing.
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