02/08/2026
One week on. 🕊️
We've started a little garden space for Yogi — not finished, not everything in place yet, but a start. Somewhere for him.
This week has been one of the hardest of my life, but the garden has held us. The other night a grasshopper landed on my arm, and out of nowhere I saw him — bounding through long golden grass in the fields, feral and free, exactly how he loved to be. Since then it's felt like nature's been speaking for him. An endless run of white butterflies. Feathers appearing from nowhere. Birds coming close in the garden like they know. I'm spiritual, I've always believed in signs — but I've never felt a spirit this strong, this present, this fast.
His dad has taken this particularly hard. He imprinted on Yogi the day he picked him up and brought him home - for me, but there was a bond between them even I couldn't compete with. Watching Leon grieve his little boy has been its own kind of heartbreak.
I won't pretend I've found this easy either, but I think losing my mam young gave me some familiarity with grief's shape already — I've walked this road before, even if every loss still hurts in its own way.
Gizmo has started sitting in the exact spot Yogi used to p*e in the garden. Never once before. He's still happy, still playful — Yogi left him that, a bit of his youth and cheek passed on to his brother, like a last gift. But there's a stillness in him too, like he's sitting with someone we can't see.
We get Yogi home tomorrow. And then, I think, is when we really start learning how to live without him in the room.
Here's what I need people to hear: pet loss is not "just a dog." He was healing, presence, unconditional love, a soul that met ours daily for years. Grief doesn't ask what species you loved — it just asks how much. If you've ever been made to feel silly for grieving an animal, you weren't being dramatic. You were loving something that mattered.
Run wild, my boy. We'll catch up to you one day. 🐾💔
