Note: I have openly talked about the death of my dog. However, I have always wanted to have a medium where I could discuss my experience, and hopefully help others who will go through it, who have gone through it, or who are maybe going through it now.

Throughout the 13 years that I had Maxie, my favorite thing to do was curl up against her on the big chair in the living room. I would snuggle my head into her fur, which shed easily, and feel the repetitive rise and collapse of her belly. To me, this wasn’t just the casual snuggle: this was the proof that she was still there, still alive.

I think this is why I can recall the exact details of walking into my parent’s bedroom and seeing her lifeless body in her crate; it’s because it was the exact opposite of the way I remembered her. When I reached out to pet her, she was cold. Her stomach was still. Her eyes were still open, as if maybe there was still the hope that she was alive, and that she was going to wake up any minute. I don’t even need to try that hard to recall the feeling of her frozen fur beneath my palm, and the bones beneath her skin.

Everyone says that there are certain moments in our lives that we look back on, and we can remember every sensation, every sense, every feeling it brings up. This is one of those.

My beagle, my puppy, my Maxie… has been dead for about a year now. She was 16-years-old, so we can all agree that old age was the cause. The day that she died was paradoxical. She passed on the day of my high school graduation (my life is honestly so tragic). The day I had been looking forward to forever was now becoming one of the worst days of my life. I had to perform, and although I was able to keep it together on stage, I was sobbing like a baby in the wings. There were people who thought it was cute, since they thought I was crying because of graduation. All I wanted to do was shout, “NO, I’M CRYING BECAUSE MY DOG IS DEAD. THIS SCHOOL ISN’T WORTH MY TEARS YOU IDIOT!”

But the worst part about the whole thing was how no one seemed to get understand how I felt. When I told my peers, they just replied in a monotone voice, “Oh, I’m sorry”, as if to just be polite. They just didn’t get what it was like to lose something that you had had in your house since you were five. They didn’t get that this wasn’t just an animal: it was a living creature that you cared for with all of your heart and soul.

This is why I give the advice now: It is okay to feel heartbroken over losing a pet. Your feelings are absolutely valid, and it’s okay to mourn. Losing Maxie was one of the hardest things I have ever had to go through. I had faced death before, but it was never with someone who was such a daily force in my life. Looking back, it was so hard to move on because she was like a human. She was sassy, lively, stubborn, as if she was imitating my family. She didn’t just adapt my family’s behavior: she seemed to have been born into it, as if she were my sibling

That being said, it’s also okay to move on. I remember getting so angry with myself when the pain of losing Maxie started feeling less stinging. I no longer started to accidentally throw my crusts in her empty dish. I got accustomed to taking walks on my own without using the dog as an excuse. I didn’t listen attentively for the patter of her feet. I stopped crying every time I thought about her or wrote another poem about our final moments together. I thought that this meant that she was fading away, and that she no longer mattered. I didn’t know if I was ready to move on, to let go of her. Letting go meant accepting defeat… the defeat that she was dead and that she was officially gone. But in the end, life isn’t about living in grief… it’s about accepting it and moving on.

As for me… I think I’ve moved on. There are days where I’ll see her picture and feel a pang. But after a year, I can now remember the rise and fall of her belly beneath my face, without feeling sad. I smile instead.