A young teenager in my building greeted me the way they always do, and their mom did the same. At some point during our conversation, they said something along the lines of “pet Peppa and say hi to her for me.” The mom gently reminded them, and they quickly caught themselves. “Oh sorry, next time you get a new dog, save that hi for them.”
I could tell they felt a little embarrassed and were worried about how I might react. But honestly, it was a completely understandable moment and I was not upset or bothered in the slightest.
When someone has been such a constant presence in your life the way Peppa was in mine, it makes total sense that people would still think of her as part of the picture.
If anything, I found it kind of beautiful. It just goes to show how naturally people came to see me, my wife, and Peppa as a unit. Wherever I went, she was either with me or right by my wife’s side. We were always together.
So rather than feeling sadness in that moment, I felt something warm instead. Six months after losing her, people still associate her with us. They still want to say hello to her. They still remember her as part of our lives. That means something.
I let them know right away that everything was completely fine, because I wanted them to feel at ease. And I meant every word of it. The fact that Peppa still lives in the memory of the people around us, that they still light up at the thought of her, is a genuinely sweet thing. I would not trade that for anything.
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