Another year with your memory

 Another year with your memory.

Another year since the day the world changed shape.

The calendar moved forward, but part of me still lives in that room… in that hour… in the moment I realized I would have to keep loving you without being able to hold you.

People say time passes quickly.

Maybe it does for them.

But grief measures time differently.

It counts the birthdays you missed.

The seasons your paws never walked through.

The mornings when sunlight reached your favorite spot and found it empty.

Another year has gone by, and I still know exactly how your fur felt beneath my hand.

I still remember the sound of your nails on the floor.

The way your collar jingled when you stretched.

The little sigh you made before falling asleep, as if being near me was all the peace you needed.

Sometimes I worry that the details will fade.

That one day I will forget the exact shape of your ears or the way your eyes softened when I said your name.

So I hold onto everything.

The photographs.

The worn toy tucked safely in a drawer.

The blanket that no longer carries your scent but still feels like yours.

The stories I repeat because saying them keeps a small part of our life breathing.

This anniversary still hurts.

Not in the same sharp way it did at first.

Now the pain is quieter.

Deeper.

It sits beside me like someone who has learned the shape of my days.

I can laugh when I remember you now.

And then cry because the laugh ends and you are still gone.

That is how love and grief live together.

One hand holding gratitude.

The other holding absence.

But another year with your memory is still another year with you.

You are in the way I notice every dog with kind eyes.

In the way I slow down for old paws.

In the tenderness I carry because you taught me how completely a heart can belong to another living soul.

Tonight, I will light a candle for you. 

I will look through your pictures.

I will say your name out loud.

And somewhere beyond this ache, I will imagine you in a meadow washed with golden light, strong and joyful, running beneath a sky filled with stars.

Maybe you remember this day too.

Maybe you come a little closer when my heart is calling.

Another year has passed, my sweet dog.

But love has not moved away from you.

It has only learned to travel across the distance…

waiting for the day when memory becomes presence again, and I find you running toward me at the Rainbow Bridge.