15/07/2025
THIS LAST YEAR HAS BEEN THE HARDEST YEAR OF MY LIFE!
Loss after loss until it felt like I had lost it all. đ˘
It wasnât a crash, a sudden explosion, or a single loss I could point to. It came in wavesâsmall ones at firstâthen larger, heavier, until I was drowning.
Friends said, âYouâll be okay.â
But I wasnât.
I was hollow.
Bills piled up. I stopped answering calls. I stopped answering myself. I barely ate. I barely moved. I slept too much or not at all. And in those sleepless nights, staring at the ceiling with a heartbeat that didnât want to go on, I started asking the question that terrified me:
Do I even want to be here anymore?
The only one who didnât walk away was himâmy dog.
Bones wasnât just a dog. He was a 145 pound tank of muscle, patience, and loyalty. He had eyes like old soil, full of quiet understanding. Every morning, no matter how dark my spirit was, Iâd open my eyes and there he wasâsitting at the edge of the bed, waiting. Just⌠waiting.
There were days I didnât speak to anyone. But I talked to him.
âNot today, buddy. I canât do it today.â
And heâd nudge my hand with his snout.
âYeah, I know. Youâre still here. Iâm trying.â
One night, I hit bottom. I mean rock bottom.
I sat on the bathroom floor, back against the tub, shaking with a thousand pounds of grief and guilt. I wasnât thinking about tomorrow, or healing, or hope. Just silence. Just stopping. I cried in a way I didnât know I could.
Thatâs when Bones padded in. Quiet, deliberate. He curled up next to me, his massive body pressing into mine like a wallâlike he was trying to hold me together when I was ready to fall apart. And then he did something heâd never done before.
He licked the tears off my face.
It broke me. But not in the way I expected.
I looked into his eyes and I felt somethingâsomething more than just fur and instinct. It was like he knew. Not just that I was hurting, but why. Like he was sent to me.
Not by chance.
Not by coincidence.
But by a higher power I had stopped believing in.
That night, I prayed for the first time in years.
Not for a miracle. Not for escape. Just⌠guidance. Just strength to take one more step. I started waking up early, just to sit outside with Bones in the quiet. I didnât scroll. I didnât speak. I just sat. And in that silence, I started to feel again.
I started walking him again.
Then I started walking myself againâback into life.
People think healing is dramatic. It isnât. Itâs slow. Itâs brutal. But sometimes, healing doesnât come in therapy sessions or spiritual retreats. Sometimes, it comes in the form of a dog who doesnât leave your side. A dog who listens without judging. A dog who shows up, day after day, with a heart too big for his body.
Today, Iâm still here.
Not because I never broke.
But because I didâand Bones sat with me in the pieces.
I found God again, too. Not in a sermon. Not in a book. But in the quiet mornings, the faithful eyes, the unconditional love of a creature that asked for nothing but gave everything.
And when people ask how I made it through, I just smile and say:
âWhen I had nothing left⌠I had him.â
And somehow, that was enough.
