30/09/2026
Rest in peace, Sweety
2015–2026 🤍
I wrote this a week and a half ago, while you were still here. I knew you were leaving, and I knew that when you were gone, I wouldn’t be able to find the words.
People who never knew you will never understand what it feels like to live without you.
When you begin rescuing, those first babies become your foundation. They shape you in ways no one else can understand. They are the reason you find the strength to keep going, and the reason countless other lives are saved after theirs.
So many times, I have written that Sweety was the only baby left from our foundation year. The last of our original 2015 family.
Every one of them took something with them when they left—something I will never get back. And now, with Sweety gone, that entire pack the ones who made me who I am today is gone.
They were my moral compass. My guiding light.
I was in my late twenties when this journey began, still trying to understand life and find my way. I didn’t have many people to guide me, but I had them. That little family taught me more about love, responsibility, courage and loss than I had learned in all the years before them.
People in rescue carry so much grief. Before we have time to mourn one life, another needs us. So we keep going. The grief doesn’t end. It accumulates. And it can be unbearably lonely to carry so many goodbyes while still showing up for everyone who remains.
Sweety, you were the last living piece of where it all began.
I just wish I could hold you one more time.
