At first, I thought that was a psychological term that therapists used to validate conflicting emotions.

“Well, two things can be true.”

I’ve heard it countless times in session, and I didn’t believe it until I saw it in my daily life. It was shocking to know that I might be both mad and sad, or happy and disappointed. My emotional spectrum had been black or white. I never stepped into the shades of gray before therapy taught me how.

This case feels like my most contradictory yet.

We lost Penelope in April of this year. In the most sudden way possible, she was ripped from our grasp, turning our world as we knew it upside down. The healing process has been messy and emotionally full of ebbs and flows, like waves crashing off the shore. Neither one of us believes we’ll feel healed again. Our love for her has buried itself in the depths of our bones. We will carry her loss for the rest of our lives. Still, we are growing stronger each day to withstand the weight of affection that has nowhere to go.

The strength we’ve developed has led our family to the conclusion that we want to open our hearts up again. Not to replace what we lost, but to create a space for a different treasure in our home. On August 15th, a 7-pound package from Georgia arrived: a tiny, red-headed Corgi puppy. She was born with the name Star, a reference to the small white marking in the center of her forehead. But we chose to call her Parker. The name is a tribute to her angel sister, Penelope, and to Queens native Peter Parker, better known as Spider-Man.

From the moment she arrived, she brought life back into the spaces that felt frozen in time. After a long period of silence, our home echoed with the sounds of little paws, puppy yelps, crinkling toys, and all the commotion that comes with a three-month-old puppy experiencing her unfamiliar surroundings. We were beyond excited to welcome her, to learn who she is, and to watch her grow into whoever she’s meant to become.

But as I have learned, two things can be true.

With excitement came a level of overwhelm that we hadn’t expected. The quiet that once echoed through our house gave way to a different noise: the constant hum of responsibility. Every day brings fresh questions. Are we doing enough? Are we teaching her what she needs to know? Do we have the patience to provide the needed structure, comfort, and love? While Parker’s arrival has helped mend a part of ourselves that felt broken forever, it has also introduced a new fear: the hope that we can give her everything she deserves from us.

I would be lying if I said grief hasn’t found its way into this new chapter, too. While she’s not a replacement for Penelope, I often get trapped in the comparison between the two of them. Of course, the puppy I’ve known for three weeks differs from the dog I loved for six years. It would be ridiculous to think otherwise, but it’s a knee-jerk reaction that still comes up. I have learned that it is common for people to feel guilty after opening their hearts to a new pet, especially when the memories of a loved one are so fresh. If you have felt this kind of guilt too, you’re not alone.

For me, the first step is recognizing the feeling and permitting myself to grieve for Penelope while embracing Parker for who she is. It feels unfair to both of them, but reminding myself that each relationship is unique helps me work through it. Parker deserves the chance to become herself without being measured against what was before her.

Learning to let go of those comparisons is a lesson I am still learning. Some days I find myself caught up in the frustration of something Penny would never do and Parker does anyway. Other days, I catch myself melted into the back of Parker’s neck, inhaling the marvelous puppy scent for all its glory. She’s brand new, and my greatest gift to her will be the full run of the heart she’s already healed with her existence in our home.

Editor: Lucy Cafiero