Dina S.

Today marks six full months. Half a year since February 7th, the day my world shifted and you had to go.

It feels impossible that six months have passed, yet at the same time, every single day without you has felt long and quiet. Things haven’t been the same since you left, Kano. I still look for you in the habits of my day, and there are so many moments where I instinctively turn to find you, only to remember the heavy truth all over again.

Getting your memory tattooed on my skin was my way of keeping you as close to me as humanly possible. But even with that constant reminder, I miss your real presence—your warmth, your quiet comfort, and the way you made everywhere we were feel like home.

Every month on the 7th, I stop to write to you, to speak your name, and to make sure you know that you are loved just as fiercely now as you were when you were laying right beside me. You were my sweet boy, my anchor through so much life, and that bond didn't break when you crossed the bridge.

I hope you are resting in endless warmth today, completely free and at peace. I carry you with me in every step, through every change, and in every quiet moment.

I miss you so much. Always.

I hope wherever you are today, you are resting in complete peace, surrounded by warmth and light.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the two of you lately. I don't know what you whispered to Cubby before you left, or what kind of secret instructions you gave him, but I need to thank you. Whatever you told him, he listened.

Cubby has been watching over me, keeping me company, and helping hold my heart together in your place. When he curls up close—looking so peaceful and content—I can't help but feel a little bit of your presence in the room, too. It’s like a quiet reminder that the love we built didn't disappear; it just found a way to reach me through him.

What I want you to know today:

You are never replaced. Cubby isn't here to take your spot, but to honor the space you created for love in my life.

I see your influence. Every time he brings a moment of comfort or a sudden smile to my face, I think of you and thank you for looking out for us.

My heart still holds you tightly. Five months later, every memory of you is held as precious as ever.

Thank you for sending a friend to keep me safe and loved while you rest across the bridge. Keep running free, sweet boy, and know that you are deeply loved, today and always.

With all my love,

Mom

Five months today.

Five months of walking into rooms where you used to be. Five months of waking up and remembering. They say time moves forward, but a huge part of my heart stayed right there with you the day you crossed the Rainbow Bridge.

I am getting better at moving through the days, but please never mistake my forward steps for moving on. You are woven into everything I do. I still look for you. I still find myself wanting to tell you things, to lean on you after a long day, or to just sit in the quiet comfort we always shared.

My promises to you today, five months out:

I will always speak your name. You will never be just a memory; you are a permanent part of my story.

I will look for the joy you gave me. Even when the grief is heavy, I am trying to remember the happiness we shared for so many years.

I will keep loving you fiercely. Distance and time have nothing on the bond we built.

I hope the fields are bright where you are today, Kano. Run fast, rest well, and know that you are missed just as much today as you were on day one.

With all my love, always,

Four months today.

One hundred and twenty days since you left my side and crossed the Rainbow Bridge. Sometimes it feels like you were just here yesterday, and other times it feels like an eternity since I last felt the warmth of your fur or looked into your sweet eyes.

The sharp, stinging pain from the beginning has settled into a quiet, heavy ache. I am learning how to carry your absence, but please never think that means I am forgetting.

Today, I find myself remembering:

The unique comfort of your presence when the world got too loud.

The way you could turn an ordinary day into a good one just by being yourself.

The absolute certainty that we belonged together.

I miss you just as fiercely today as I did four months ago. I hope you are running fast, resting deeply, and that somehow, wherever you are, you can feel the love I send up to you every single day.

You left paw prints on my soul, Kano, and those will never fade.

Forever missing you,

Tomorrow marks three months.

Twelve weeks have passed since you headed toward the Rainbow Bridge, and yet I still find myself reaching for you. They say that grief is just love with no place to go, and lately, I feel like I’m overflowing with it.

I’ve lived through ninety days of "firsts" without you, and none of them have been easy. I still catch myself checking the floor before I step, or glancing at the door when I come home, hoping—just for a heartbeat—that this was all a dream and you’ll be there to greet me.

What I want you to know today:

• You are still a part of my day. I talk to you in my head, and I see "signs" of you in the small things.

• The bond hasn't faded. Even though I can’t pet your head or hear your breath, the connection we built over the years feels just as strong.

• I am trying. I am trying to smile at your photos instead of only crying, though some days the tears still win.

I hope you’re finding the best nap spots up there and that you can feel every ounce of the love I’m sending your way. You were my best friend, my shadow, and my heart. That will never change, no matter how many months go by.

Two months. They say time is supposed to make things easier, but today, eight weeks since you crossed the Rainbow Bridge, the silence in the house still feels just as loud. I look for you in all your favorite corners, and for a split second, I still expect to hear the sound of your paws or the shift of your weight against the floor.

My heart is just as heavy today as it was the moment you left. I think it’s because I’m still carrying all the love I have for you with nowhere for it to go.

I miss the little things the most:

• The way you knew exactly how I was feeling without me saying a word.

• The specific routine of our mornings together.

• The pure, uncomplicated joy you brought into every room.

I hope where you are now, the sun is always warm, the grass is soft, and you are running with the kind of freedom you deserve. Please keep a spot saved for me. I’m trying my best to be okay, but please know that you are missed beyond measure and loved beyond words.

Until we meet again, sweet boy.

Always,

It is Day 5. I’m still here, and I know you are too, just in a different way.

I spent yesterday asking so many "Whys." I was trying to figure out how I missed the fluid, why the check-ups didn't catch it, and if I was wrong to let you go at 1:15 PM. But as the sun comes up on Day 5, I’m trying to listen to what the doctor and my heart told me: I chose your peace over my own. I took the pain so you didn't have to drown.

The house is quiet, but it’s not empty. Casper and Cubby are stepping up. They are learning how to fill the space you left behind. I’m waiting for your pillow and your poster to arrive so I can have a place to put all this love that has nowhere to go.

I miss your face. I miss the way you just "knew" me. But today, I’m going to try to be the person you’d want me to be. I’m going to try to breathe through the "lemon" in my throat and take care of the boys.