𝐀 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐀𝐝𝐚

Today marks one year since you left.

Not a single day has passed without me thinking of you.
Not one day without that heavy pain sitting inside my heart.
Everything is different without you. Nothing feels the same.

I still live, I still move, I still smile… but there is always something missing; a space no one can fill.

I cannot walk into your room. I cannot even go to the dog shelter. Your bed is still there. Your pictures are still there.

Everything is the same.
Except you are not there… and that is the hardest part.

I have dreamed of you only once since you left. Just once.
In that dream, I was in Karantina feeding the dogs, and suddenly you appeared. You stood on your back legs and hugged me.

I held you so tightly. I cried and cried. I kissed your forehead. I rested my head against yours. I did not want to let you go.

Then I woke up. It was the hardest awakening. God knows how hard it was to pull myself out of bed.
The pain was indescribable. It was even harder than the moment I was told that you had died…

It felt so real. So warm. For a few seconds, it felt like you were back.

Your sudden death was the hardest thing I have ever lived through; harder than any suffering I’ve known.

Two days after you left, as I was walking near APC, a butterfly appeared. It had the exact same colors you had; colors I had never seen on a butterfly before. It stayed close to me. I knew it was you.

I still believe that.

And every time I see a German Shepherd, I look into their eyes searching for you. I look for you in faces, in gestures, in eyes.

No one is like you.

You were not just a part of my life. You were woven into my heart.

I miss you in ways words cannot explain.

I love you my Ada… always.
I promise to always keep your name alive.
I have something in mind; something for senior dogs.
I will launch it in your name, so I can continue to say it, to spell it, to keep it living every single day.