10/14/2025
For the ones who are counting time
No one prepares you for this kind of love —
the kind that breaks you open and keeps breaking, even when you think there’s nothing left to break.
When your dog is dying, the world doesn’t move the same.
Every morning starts with that familiar dread sitting on your chest —
that quiet, suffocating fear asking, “Is today the day?”
You stop living by calendars and start living by heartbeats.
Loving them becomes holding on and letting go at the same time.
You memorize the way they breathe, the sound of their paws on the floor,
the weight of their head resting against your leg —
because somewhere deep down, you know you’re collecting pieces of goodbye.
There’s a cruel kind of beauty in those moments —
you still get to see them, love them, care for them…
but every happy second has a shadow behind it.
Even when they smile, when they eat, when they seem okay —
there’s always that gnawing reminder that time is not on your side.
You don’t sleep the same. You listen for every movement in the dark.
You become their nurse, their advocate, their voice —
and somehow you forget yourself completely.
Because their comfort becomes your entire world.
When I think about Raggy, I remember that quiet panic.
The constant anxiety that never left.
The feeling of watching his body fade while his spirit kept fighting —
because that’s who he was: a fighter, through and through.
He didn’t survive, but he fought with everything he had.
And I fought beside him.
The pain of losing him is something I’ll carry forever.
But I never want to forget it —
because that pain means he was real.
It means he was here. He lived. He loved me back.
And even though his body is gone, that love — that fight —
is still alive in me.
I’d do it all over again.
Every sleepless night, every tear, every ounce of fear.
Because loving him — even through the worst of it —
was the greatest privilege of my life. 🕯️🐾
