Trying to move on

Twelve days before I lost my baby—my beloved dog—I brought home two tiny kittens. Those twelve days felt like a dream. I was surrounded by magic, by life. Three beautiful souls curled around me, night and day. One by my head, my baby dog resting in her usual place on my lap, and a kitten nestled at my feet. I couldn’t move—didn’t want to. In that stillness, I was the happiest person alive.

Then came December 12th, 2023. I lost her. My world stopped. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I was paralyzed.

I tried to hold on for the kittens, tried to be present. But every corner of my home, every sound, every heartbeat reminded me of her. Even feeding them felt like betrayal. The guilt grew so heavy it crushed me.

And I knew—they deserved more. They deserved someone whole, someone who could love them freely. So I let them go, to a kind and loving family, together, still wrapped in each other’s warmth.

Since then, I haven’t been able to touch a dog - or any animal. Sometimes, I can’t even look at one. It’s like love itself has become painful. The guilt… it’s alive inside me.

I am someone who doesn’t just love animals—I need them. They are the heartbeat of my soul. And yet now, I can’t. I physically can’t love again. It’s like my heart forgot how.

We only had six years. Six short years. But in those six years, she gave me a lifetime’s worth of love. And I would trade anything—everything—for just one more day with her.