Me and my Ayumi - apart in body for a while, yet together

I had to say goodbye to my beloved dog Ayumi,
 who now waits for me somewhere beyond this world.
Losing her changed me deeply, and I still miss her.

But she is still an inseparable part of me in another form.
Until we meet again...

     It has already been 1 year, 3 months, and 20 days. And I still miss my furry best friend, my Akita Inu girl, my Ayumi. They say time heals everything. Nonsense. It doesn't heal anything, but it does teach us something. It teaches us how to love someone we miss while, at the same time, learning to live a full life. Nothing could be simpler, right?

I would never have chosen this for myself. And yet I did. I had to find all the strength within me to let her go, to give her peace, and to finally set her free from pain. After my husband, the vets, and I had tried everything we could, I still had to say goodbye to her. No matter how much time you have, it never feels like enough when you have to say goodbye to someone you love. And it still hurts.

• Dear reader, with all due respect, if you don't understand the pain animal lovers feel after losing a beloved animal, the compassion they have for any suffering animal, or the fact that an animal like a dog can be just as close to someone as another human being, please don't read any further. I've met people who feel differently, and our mindsets and perceptions of the world simply don't meet anywhere in the middle.

• But if you're an animal lover, you know what it means to look into those animal eyes and see your most loyal friend. You fully understand what it means to do everything for your dog. And if you've ever lost one, you know the feeling of being torn apart inside. If so, you've come to the right place.

I'm an animal lover. And my Ayumi was truly my soul dog.

In the main photo above, you can see the same place by the lake - with a dog and without one.

My first photo shows my Akita observing everything around her. I used to go there with her. We loved that place, and it was one of the places where we shared some of our most joyful walks.

The second photo was taken when I returned there after my Ayumi was no longer here in the physical world. That same emptiness was what I felt in my chest, too. The first time I went back after we said goodbye, I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stop the tears. I couldn't simply be.

For several months, I was unable to return to that place because it felt as if I were being torn to pieces from the inside. The missing leash in my hand and the absence of that stubborn four-legged lady dog by my side were more painful than anything else.

Only with time did I slowly begin to return whenever my body could handle it, and I felt able to allow myself to be there again. But the memories and the love I feel in that place still connect me to Ayumi. Just as they do in so many other places.

And this? That's a chewed-up shelf.

How many animal lovers can relate to this? :)

While our dogs are with us, we repair things, clean up after them, and try to keep everything in order. And when they're no longer with us, every bit of fur on the floor, every stray piece of kibble found in the cupboard, every scratched door, or, in my case, a chewed-up shelf, becomes such a precious memory.

I kept it. I've moved since then, but that shelf is now part of the furniture in my creative room, where I work. Ayumi's shelf, where she kept her toys and which she carefully chewed on as a puppy and still took a little bite out of here and there even as an adult, reminds me of her every time I look at it.

And now, as I begin to count the time since such a big change in my life not in months but in years, she is still a part of me in this way, too.

Because what means so much to us, what we love with all our hearts, has long since become a part of us. It remains with us even after our paths have parted for a while.

I see Ayumi's beauty in other Akitas. When I hear a dog bark, I can still hear her barking in response, even though she isn't actually there. I can still feel the wind that connects us (I have a very sensitive memory connected to that, but I would rather not share it out loud just yet). When I close my eyes, I can see her in front of me. I can still feel her soft fur and the warmth radiating from her body.

And I believe that anyone whose furry friend is no longer by their side but is waiting for them on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge will always be able to picture their furry companion clearly, right down to the look in their eyes.

I still get tears in my eyes when I think about any of it. I did everything for her.  I don't regret a thing.

From small things like giving her socks to unravel, taking her for walks in any weather, often getting soaked to the bone, to changing my plans, turning down events she couldn't come to, not traveling, caring for her day and night when she had health problems, sleeping on the floor beside her many times, spending more money on her needs than on my own, leaving my job when she needed more care, and ultimately putting my needs aside when it came to her true well-being and our final goodbye.

And I would do it all over again.

Today, I am different. My life has changed completely.

I have gone through the grief of losing her, and in some ways, I am still going through it.

I also grieve for the person I once was and will never be again.

And there is grief for the little family that my husband, Ayumi, and I once were.

On the one hand, all of this remains in my heart. But on the other, we continue to move forward together, through love and pain, and my life has changed beyond recognition.

She is in my heart, in my memories. If I'm lucky, I dream of her (sadly, not very often). She is in some videos from the online yoga classes I used to teach from home, which I still share with others today. And now she is also with me in my writing. Not everywhere, but now and then, she puts her invisible paw on the keyboard and finds her way into one of my books, an ebook, an Instagram post, or now, my blog.

She even appeared in one of my older articles last summer: Shrouded in sadness beneath the sunny skies of Mallorca, by the Balearic Sea.

And we are definitely still a furry family, even if in a different form.

And I know for sure that we will see each other again.

This is my little way of sharing. At the same time, it is a friendly connection to all dog lovers, and maybe even a little hug in the form of a blog article for those who are currently going through the deepest sadness. I know that pain. 

* 12-2026-9

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