There is a quiet companionship that comes with animals, a bond that doesn’t demand words but offers solace in the hardest moments. In the past month, I’ve leaned heavily on that bond. My chocolate lab, Foxtrot, has been my steadfast snuggler, a warm presence on the days when being in a room feels impossibly hard.
Loss is a strange thing. Even when it’s expected, as it was with my husband’s passing due to Inclusion Body Myositis, it still hits like a wave you never saw coming. I was in Saipan, volunteering with Saipan Cares, when I got the news. I came home a week early, leaving behind a planned scuba diving trip, though I did manage to fit in a few dives before returning. The underwater world, with its quiet beauty and rhythm, was good for my soul—a reminder that life continues, even in the depths.
By the time I returned, my adult daughter had handled everything: the 911 call, the ambulance, the coroner, the funeral home, and cremation arrangements. She was strong when I couldn’t be there, and I’ll always be grateful for that. But while the logistics were taken care of, the grieving was waiting for me when I got back.
Some days, I find myself struggling to be in a room. The silence is heavy, and the memories linger in every corner. Yet, I’ve found comfort in my work and in the animals that fill my life.
One client, an older gentleman, came in recently. We had talked before about the loss of his wife six months ago, and now, he was facing the loss of his dog. I tried everything I could to save his beloved companion, but ultimately, I couldn’t. I fear he won’t get another pet, and my heart aches for him. The bond we share with animals is irreplaceable, and I know how deeply that loss can cut.
But I’ve also made a promise to myself: I will not be one of those people who fades away within 18 months of losing a spouse. I have Guardian Animal Medical Center, my incredible team, and the friends and family who have become my lifeline. I have a purpose, and I have animals to care for—and sometimes, to care for me.
In the past, I’ve been known to add a lizard or tortoise to my collection during challenging times. This time, I resisted that urge, though I did welcome a new hand-me-down Harris Hawk into my life. Animals give me something to learn, something to nurture, and something to hold onto when the world feels uncertain.
Foxtrot, my ever-loyal lab, has been my anchor. He doesn’t ask for much—just my presence, a scratch behind the ears, and a warm spot beside me. But he gives so much in return: comfort, companionship, and a reason to keep moving forward.
For me, animals have always been more than just pets. They are teachers, healers, and companions. They remind us to live in the moment, to find joy in the simple things, and to keep going, even when the path ahead feels unclear.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned through this journey, it’s that grief is not something you “get over.” It’s something you carry, something that becomes a part of you. But it doesn’t have to define you. For me, the animals in my life—whether it’s Foxtrot, the Harris Hawk, or the countless pets I care for at GAMC—are a reminder that there is still so much to live for.
To anyone who has experienced loss, I encourage you to find something—or someone—that gives you purpose. For some, it’s a pet. For others, it might be a hobby, a community, or a cause. Whatever it is, let it be a source of strength, a reminder that life continues, and that there is still beauty to be found, even in the midst of sorrow.
Foxtrot doesn’t know my pain, but he knows when I need him. And for now, that’s enough.