Grief and grace: The love that remains

This is a blog I had to wait to write. Not because I didn’t want to share it, but because I needed to be in the right space to say it. I needed to take care of myself first. And that is more than ok. It is ok to put yourself first.

On 21 March 2025, we lost our beautiful staffie girl Tina. She was 16 years and 4 months old. Then, just a week later on 28 March, we said goodbye to our big boy Sam, aged 13.

Tina was actually my daughter’s dog. She came to our house every single day that my daughter worked, for nine years. She was part of our world. A constant. Sam came to us at 18 months old with a long list of challenges. We took him in and worked with him gently, lovingly, until those struggles softened and he could trust us.

When Sam and Tina met, it was like a mother and son bond from the start. She guided him. He leaned into her strong, calm, confident state. They were inseparable.

Our hearts are broken. And yet, we are so, so thankful that they went together. Because seeing one without the other would have felt unbearable. I truly believe Tina waited. She had fought off serious illness before. She held on until he was ready to join her. I picture them crossing the rainbow bridge side by side, exactly as they lived.

Staffies are known for their noise. Their talking, their personality, their presence. And now our house is so quiet. We still have Mea, our oh so special girl, and she is grieving too. She is adjusting to the stillness just like we are.

They were part of everything. The noise. The cuddles. The routine. The walks. The rolling about and playfulness. Every moment of our lives held a little piece of them. And now we’re left with space. Too much space sometimes.

You do not just bounce back. It is not linear. It comes in waves, and you never know when it will hit you. Sometimes I am fine. Sometimes I am a mess. That is the nature of grief. It’s love, with nowhere to go.

But here is what I do know. You can still look after yourself even when you are grieving. You can still function. You can still show up for yourself with gentleness and compassion. I took time off. I found spaces that could hold me. I gave myself permission to not be ok. That’s one of the gifts of being self employed – the space to feel, to breathe, and to begin healing in my own way.

There is no one way to grieve. Some of us talk. Some of us shut down. Some of us throw ourselves into distractions. Others fall apart and slowly piece themselves back together. Grief doesn’t follow a timeline. There is no rulebook.

But what is true for all of us is this,  grief asks us to feel. To remember. To honour what was lost.

If you are grieving, whether it is a pet, a person, a chapter of your life, or even an old version of yourself, please know this: you are not alone. And it’s more than ok to prioritise yourself right now.

You do not owe anyone an explanation.

You do not need to be strong.

You are doing your best. And that is enough.

Every time I walk past their favourite spot or see their bowls, it stings. But I also smile at the memories. I think of the joy they brought into our lives. The lessons they taught me. The unconditional love they gave us so freely.

I have always said animals are here to teach us something. Tina and Sam taught me to slow down. To be present. To keep showing up even when things are hard. They were the heartbeats of our home, and even though they are no longer here in body, they are everywhere in spirit.

Grief doesn’t mean forgetting. It means carrying them forward in a new way. It means letting the memories hold you. It means learning how to live with the ache, not in spite of it.

Let this be your permission slip.

To cry.

To rest.

To take up space.

To talk about it.

To stay silent if that is what you need.

To honour your grief in your own way, without guilt or pressure.

Because grief is not weakness. It is the cost of love. And what a privilege it is to have loved so deeply that the goodbye hurts this much.

We miss them every single day. That won’t change. But we are slowly learning to let the grief move through us instead of trying to hold it back. We are filling that gaping hole with memories, with love, and with the gentlest kind of hope.

If you are in the thick of grief, know this,  you are not alone. Your grief matters. Your love matters. And there is nothing wrong with putting yourself first while you find your way through it.

Let grief come.

Let love stay.

And if you need a hand to hold as you walk through the messy middle, I am here. Always.