It’s been two days since I said goodbye to my girl, my little shadow, my cross-country co-pilot, my heartbeat with fur.

Sadie wasn’t just part of my move to Florida; she was the move. The only familiar heartbeat in a new zip code, the soft reminder that home isn’t a place, it’s who waits at the door.

Now, the house feels quieter than I knew silence could be. No tail thump from across the room when I glance her way. No crumb catcher waiting at the dinner table. Just a stillness that makes me realize how much of my own rhythm was set by hers.

When I left California, I brought very little with me: a few boxes, my courage, and Sadie.

She was the bridge between my old life and the one I’m building. She made the strange familiar, the lonely comforting, and the uncertain somehow okay.

Letting her go was the hardest act of love I have ever known.  I knew it was time to set her free from her pain so she could run again, my little runner, she was. And in my heart, I know she’d want me to run, too, straight into this next chapter, open-hearted and unafraid. 

It feels like the last thread of my “before” life has been gently and painfully cut.

This chapter feels different. Quieter. Heavier. But maybe also… clearer.

Because somewhere in all this change, I’m realizing that grief and growth often show up holding hands.

So here I am, boarding a plane again.  A fun trip planned long before life rewrote my plans.  A getaway I thought I was going to need from work, but needed now more than ever with friends that always seem to help me remember my mission and find joy in the simple things along the way.  

I’ll carry Sadie with me in spirit, in the sun she loved to bathe in, in the laughter she’d wag thro, in the quiet moments when I still half expect her head to rest on my knee.

As I let Sadie run free, I’m learning to do the same. She’s no longer by my side, but I can almost feel her urging me forward tail wagging, eyes bright, nudging me toward the next stretch of this journey. So, as I sent her off to run again, I’m sending myself off too; to breathe, to heal, to open my heart to whatever love and light are waiting ahead.

I know my next post will come from that place, the one where healing begins to peek through the cracks.

But for now, I’m just here, grateful for love that lingers, friends that show up, and a little dog who taught me how to be brave enough to start over.