When I first brought you home

 When I first brought you home, I never imagined the depth of love that would grow between us. You were more than a dog—you were my confidant, my shadow, my joy in every season. We did everything together.

And so, it only makes sense that we would share this too: the ache of goodbye.

When you left, it felt like the world had split in two. Half of me kept going through the motions, while the other half stayed with you—wherever you are now. The house feels quieter, the nights longer, the days heavier.

But even in this, I feel you. Not the way I used to—not in paws and tail wags and happy greetings. But in whispers, in dreams, in the stillness. It’s as if you’re telling me: “We did this together. We love together. We even face loss together.”

And somehow, that makes the grief softer. Because if we shared everything else, then of course we share this too.

Someday, the loss will turn back into love the moment I see you again. On that meadow, across the Rainbow Bridge, we’ll be together as we always were. Until then, I’ll keep carrying both—love and loss—because they belong to us both.

Together in love. Together in loss. Forever.