Four Years Later...

On the 24th of August, it will be four years since I lost my soul dog, Tango.

I've had many dogs before him and after him, and I have loved every single one of them deeply and equally. But the connection I shared with Tango is something I have never been able to put into words. It wasn't bigger or better than the love I have for my other dogs. It was simply... different.

Even after four years, there are moments when grief still catches me completely off guard.

It has become easier with time, of course. Grief is no longer a part of my everyday life. I laugh, I work, I live my life. But every now and then, time seems to stop for just a moment, and all I want is one more ordinary day with him. Not a special memory. Not one last goodbye. Just one ordinary day where he's beside me again.

I know that a large part of my grief comes from missing his physical presence. Because the truth is, I don't feel like Tango ever left. I feel his presence, his love and his support all the time. That has never changed.

What has changed is that I can't hug him anymore.

Some days, I can spend hours looking through his photographs, smiling at every memory. On other days, I can't bring myself to look at a single picture because the ache of not having him physically with me feels too heavy.

The same thing happens with memories.

Sometimes I want to tell everyone stories about him. Sometimes I avoid thinking about those memories altogether because I'm afraid of how much I'll miss them once they're over.

In fact, just yesterday, I was going through my Google Drive looking for something completely unrelated when I came across one of Tango's old diet charts. It was just a simple document. One that I must have looked at hundreds of times while he was with me. But seeing it after all these years completely caught me off guard. I sat there crying over a diet chart.

That's the thing about grief. It doesn't always arrive through the big moments. Sometimes it hides in the most ordinary things. A photograph. A favourite toy. An old message. A document you weren't even looking for. And suddenly you're right back there, remembering a life that meant everything to you.

Grief is strange that way.

It doesn't follow rules. It doesn't move in a straight line. It doesn't disappear because enough time has passed.

Grief is funny, grief is weird, but grief is a constant reminder that there is still love in my heart for someone who has not been with me physically for four years and will never ever be with me physically. Yet, it's surprising how he still holds such a huge place in my life.

Grief is a reminder that love still exists. It has existed every single day for the last four years, even on the days when I wasn't consciously thinking about him.

Tango still occupies a space in my life that no one else ever will.

Every 24th of August brings a quiet sadness. Every 16th of November, the day he came into my life, still feels like a day worth celebrating. Every 5th of March, his birthday, makes me smile. And every little memory we've shared together remains etched in my heart.

People often say that time heals.

I don't think that's entirely true.

I think time teaches us how to carry love in a different way.

And if loving Tango this deeply means that I still grieve him four years later, then I wouldn't change a single thing.