I knew the day would come.
The gray in her muzzle had deepened, her pace slower, her naps longer.
But knowing doesn’t make it easier.
Not even close.
Her name was Luna.
She’d been by my side for over 13 years — through moves, heartbreaks, new jobs, and lazy Sundays that now feel like gold.
She was there when I needed someone most — always listening, always near, always present.
The morning she left, the world felt hollow.
Her bed still sat in the corner, the shape of her last nap untouched.
Her favorite toy sat next to it, like she might wake up and reach for it.
And the silence… the silence was deafening.
I caught myself pausing at the door to grab her leash — the one she’d had since year two.
I still do.
Sometimes, I still hear her collar jingle in quiet moments.
Sometimes, I swear I feel the slight pressure of her head resting on my foot like she always did while I worked.
People say, “She was just a dog.”
But no.
She was my anchor, my home, my peace in a noisy world.
Saying goodbye was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
But I’ve come to realize:
Just because she’s gone…
doesn’t mean she’s not here.
She lives in my habits.
My memories.
My quiet smiles when I think of her ridiculous zoomies across the yard.
To help keep her close, I ordered a memorial photo frame that now sits above her bed, and a small paw print keepsake kit I’ll always treasure.
So no — it’s not really goodbye.
It’s just… see you later.
Because love like that doesn’t leave.
It lingers.
Always.