The Hardest Goodbye
A Reflection On Unconditional Love
It’s 2018, and I had just graduated college, started my first real job, and moved into my first apartment with my girlfriend at the time.
Still settling in – unboxing, finding cheap hand-me-downs to fill the space – she turned to me and said, “It’s time to get a dog.”
Having a dog of my own had always been a dream. A loyal companion who’d never leave my side. But was it the right time?
We’d only been living together for two weeks. I was making $35,000 a year, and we had barely any savings.
Reluctantly, I agreed and told her she could start looking – thinking it’d take her at least a few weeks to find the “right” one.
A day later, she says she’s found him. The last little puppy of the litter. A floppy-eared French Bulldog so small you could cup him in your palm.
“I found him on Craigslist,” she said. “We’ll need $1,800 cash, and we can pick him up tomorrow. They’re driving in from California, and we’re meeting them at the In-N-Out parking lot.”
Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with anxiety.
And what I thought would be the sketchiest, most spontaneous decision of my life turned out to be one of the best we ever made.
The three of us were officially a family.
Fast forward seven and a half years to June 2025. We had to make the horribly difficult decision to put him to rest. An unforeseen tumor had done significant damage, and the pain and discomfort he’d been experiencing is now behind us.
The emotional toll I’m feeling now is nearly indescribable.
Just unwavering waves of sadness, hammering down throughout the day. I’ve never felt anything quite like it.
I catch my eyes repeatedly reverting to the places he would’ve been – his sunken spot on the couch, sunbathing on the patio, digging through his toy box in the corner to find his favorite for the day.
For years, this little monster we welcomed into our home was our world. And we did everything in our power to ensure he’d live a long, happy life. Nothing but freshly prepared food, supplements, daily walks, and endless undivided affection.
But like most things in this cruel world, some circumstances were beyond our control.
Now I sit here, 72 hours later, tears pouring down my face, wondering what I could’ve done differently.
His hair still clinging to our clothes. His dirty paw prints by the backdoor.
I miss the sounds. I miss the routine. I miss walking in the front door to see his smiling face waiting for me.
Just two weeks ago, I wrote in my journal: “Riding home on the streetcar. Warm, sunny Tucson day. Good music. My wife and dog are waiting for me at home. I couldn’t ask for anything else.”
In the seven years we had him, we lived in two apartments, bought a house, got married, moved states, started new jobs – and through all of it, he was our constant.
He was the one thing we could always count on being there.
I’m afraid things will never feel “normal” again and imagining a future without him is beyond my comprehension.
But as I scroll through the hundreds of photos and look back at our time together as a family, I feel incredibly fortunate.
I didn’t take a single moment for granted.
Every walk, every game of tug-of-war, every late night cuddle session – I feel so grateful to have experienced life with him by our side.
And maybe that’s what love leaves us with – not just sorrow, but a ray of sun still resting on the places he loved most. A quiet warmth that reminds us:
We showed up. We loved fully. We have nothing to regret.
Even in this silence, even in this aching absence, I know we did right by him. And somehow, that will help me find my way forward.