It’s been a few weeks now, and I still catch myself reaching for her in the morning. Peppa was part of my routine for seven years. We’d wake up, go through the day together, and wind down in the evening the same way we always did. That rhythm doesn’t just disappear when someone’s gone, even when you know it’s coming.

Losing a pet hits different than people expect if they haven’t been through it. She was here every single day. She knew my moods before I did. She’d settle next to me without being asked when something was off. That kind of presence becomes the foundation of your day, and when it’s gone, the whole structure feels unstable.

I’m learning that grief isn’t something you get over on a timeline. Some mornings I’m fine. Other mornings I remember she won’t be waiting for daddy, and it catches me all over again. Friends and colleagues have been kind about it. Some get it right away. Others take a minute to understand why losing a dog can shake someone this much. But anyone who’s had that bond knows. It’s real.

Peppa was a good girl. She lived a full life, and I’m grateful for every single day we had. That gratitude sits right next to the sadness, and I think that’s okay. Both things can be true at once.