Another year with your memory

 Another year with your memory…

and somehow,
you still feel woven into my everyday life.

Time moved forward the way it always does.
Seasons changed.
People changed.

But my love for you stayed exactly where you left it.

Some days the grief is softer now.
Less sharp.
Less overwhelming.

Then a random little thing happens…

I hear tags jingling in a parking lot.
I see sunlight hit the floor where you used to nap.
I find one of your old hairs trapped inside a blanket.

And suddenly,
it feels like no time passed at all.

I still talk about you like you’re here.
Still say your name out loud when the house gets too quiet.
Still carry your memory into ordinary moments without even trying.

Because you weren’t just part of my life.

You became part of my soul.

Another year has gone by since I held you close,
and still,
there are moments I reach for you before reality catches up.

But mixed into the sadness now,
there’s gratitude too.

Gratitude that a heart like mine got to be loved by a soul like yours.
Gratitude for every walk,
every sleepy cuddle,
every little pawprint you left across my world.

Maybe that’s what forever really means.

Not that grief disappears…
but that love survives long enough to outlive time itself.

So today,
I’ll remember you gently.

Not only for the day I lost you,
but for all the beautiful days you gave me before goodbye.

And somewhere beyond the Rainbow Bridge,
I hope you still feel how deeply you are loved.