I wrote the following words this summer,
sitting on the floor, next to Paco.
I knew we only had a few hours left together.
The next morning, the vet would come to our home – and we would let our faithful companion go.
I always knew this day would come.
I knew it would be hard.
I just had no idea how hard.
Today, for the first time, I can read these words again.
And I feel I can finally share them.
My dearest Paco,
I’m sitting here on the floor beside you,
listening to you breathe whenever you finally manage to find some rest.
For the past few days, we’ve known that it’s time to say goodbye.
The very thought is unbearable.
When we were waiting for the diagnosis at the vet’s – I was sitting on the floor beside you, trying to reassure both you and myself: “They’re going to help you now. You’ll see.” – you looked at me with those wonderful brown eyes of yours. And I felt what you were telling me: You already know. We both know...
The vet came back.
While she explained the situation and gently helped me understand that it was time to let you go,
you were lying peacefully on your side, fast asleep.
Back home, we decided to put your well-being first.
To set you free before your suffering became unbearable. And ever since we made that decision and arranged everything so that you could fall asleep peacefully at home, I can feel your relief.
You're letting me close again.
You hold my gaze for a long time, give me your loving doggy kisses.
And I understand, we get each other. Two highly sensitive souls...
Even though we know that letting you go, setting you free, ending your suffering is the right decision – it breaks our hearts.
Thirteen years is a long time.
And how we have loved them.
We traveled together and explored nature in so many countries and places. You were always with us. In hotels, restaurants, at events, visiting friends.
You simply belonged. You were part of us. Always.
And you taught me so much.
To enjoy every moment.
To love life.
What unconditional love means.
A look. A nudge of your nose. Curling up close.
With you, I was never alone.
And even through some very dark times, you kept leading me back toward the light.
Thank you for all of it.
Thank you for being you.
For your always friendly, often smiling face and your joyful, lovable spirit.
My furry soulmate.
I could feel you by my side before you had even come into our lives.
I hope the connection between our souls is strong enough for me to still feel you when your physical presence here is gone.
These last few days have been hard.
And at the same time, I am grateful for every conscious moment with you.
You enjoyed our last walks. You ran through the wet, knee-high grass – almost like you used to – nibbled on your favorite grasses and even jumped into your favorite stream one more time.
As if you, too, were saying goodbye to everything here.
Did you see the pair of ducks we’ve known since we first spotted them as ducklings all those years ago?
They came by, too.
To say goodbye, I like to believe.
Yesterday, you still insisted on your walk and chose another of your favorite routes.
Not quite as far anymore, but happy.
Today, walking was already much harder.
Just a little round through the village.
Your choice again.
We have only a few hours left.
I can feel how exhausted you are.
And I know you trust me when I tell you:
I’m here. I’m not leaving your side. I’ll take care of you.
You don’t have to fight anymore.
You can let go.
You can relax.
And you’re still breathing beside me.
You sleep a lot. Even though you’re practically deaf now, every sound startles you.
So, I make sure everything is quiet.
Dimmed lights. A subtle scent of palo santo. Soft music.
I’ll stay here beside you until tomorrow morning, when it’s time for your final journey.
You’ll fall asleep licking ice cream from our favorite ice cream shop.
Between us.
I’ll be strong.
For you.
The idea of the Rainbow Bridge gives me comfort. Perhaps because it resonates with the Mexican tradition of Día de los Muertos, which I love so much.
I imagine you over there, running across a meadow.
Free from pain. With that beautiful smile of yours on your little face.
Maybe your best friend, who went ahead of you only a few weeks ago, will be waiting for you there.
My happy dog.
I will miss you so badly...
The next Morning
And then you fell asleep. In my arms.
I felt the life leave your body.
The patio door stood wide open so your soul could fly. To be free.
Afterwards, we laid you on your favorite blanket, gently cleaned you and covered you up.
I sat beside you and stroked you until the man from the crematorium came and took you with him.
For good.
A photograph of the three of us and a handwritten letter went with you.
My Paco.
That same afternoon, I had your paw print tattooed onto my wrist.
Maybe something of you needed to stay.
Not only in my memories, but somewhere I could see it. Feel it. On my skin.
The needle hurt. And that pain felt good.
Ever since, I have carried your paw with me.
Every day.
Right there, where I can see it and run my fingers over it.
Four Months Later
It’s been many weeks since I last looked into your beautiful brown eyes,
felt your warmth and stroked your soft fur.
I miss you so much.
But I made you a promise in my letter:
To take care of myself.
To be happy.
To notice the beautiful things in life and cherish them with gratitude.
So that you could be free.
I’m trying to keep my promise.
I still go walking almost every day.
Often, I follow in our footsteps, along the paths we walked together countless times.
And every time a butterfly crosses my path, for a moment I think: You sent me that one.
Our weekend hikes and little adventures are just the two of us now.
And yet, somehow, it feels as though you’re still here.
Different. But here.
I Wanted to Keep You
Over the past few years, I have written a lot about letting go.
About chapters of life coming to an end.
About roles that no longer fit.
About people, things and ideas we have to say goodbye to so that something new can begin.
But this kind of letting go is different.
I didn’t want to let you go.
There was nothing new I wanted to make room for.
I wanted to keep you.
And yet I had to set you free.
Not because I was ready.
But because you were.
It is so quiet without you.
I don’t know how long it will take
to get used to a life without the sound of your paws beside me.
Maybe I don’t need to know.
I keep going.
Along our paths and along new ones.
With a heavy heart on some days and a smile on others.
And with you somewhere in between.
Under my skin and deep inside my heart.
Letting go doesn’t mean the love goes away.
Maybe sometimes it simply means learning to carry that love with us in a different form.
