On April 28, we lost our beloved corgi, Penelope Lane. She was seven years old and expected to recover from surgery, but her body gave out when we brought her home. We rushed her to the hospital to try to save her, but unfortunately, she passed away. Our world shifted the moment we left the building without her. We had taken her to the doctor thousands of times before, each visit with a solution, but this didn’t. The drive home was the first of many brutal realities we’d have to face without her.

Walking back into our apartment felt different. Every place she should have been, she was no longer. There was no greeting at the door or on the evening walk; it was silence and the cleanup of the aftermath of her departure from this world. The heaviness of our home was too much for me to bear, so I spent the first few hours outside on the stoop trying to make sense of it all. Thankfully, my wife cleaned up the space before we spent the rest of the night in bed, in tears. Life as we knew it had changed forever. Our beloved Penelope was gone.

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”

– Winnie the Pooh

Her absence weighed on us, but so did the change in our routine. Every day and night rotated around her. Each morning during the week, she went to daycare. She got fed at school (so she didn’t starve, as my wife used to say). Then she came home. After work every night, she tried to steal 5-10 minutes outside; most nights, she won that battle. Her confidence helped her create many fun interactions on the street. If she wanted pets from someone, she insisted they pay attention. Most of the time, it worked. When it didn’t, she made her disapproval known. Moments with her were never boring.

When Penelope entered our lives, the world was facing a pandemic. We were newly married, and I wasn’t mentally at my best. My anxiety was acute, and I couldn’t focus on anything other than the scary thoughts in my mind. The weight of the world, combined with my anxious reality, was hard for newlyweds. Rescuing her gave us a distraction and a bigger purpose: we had to be okay because this tiny dog depended on us. In return, she provided unending, unconditional love.

She didn’t care about my mental state; she cared only about treats, playing with her toys, and the many long walks we’d take. I’d spend hours outside with her, trying to keep myself busy getting to know our new family member. I’d come in more relaxed, and we got to experience what it looked like to be a family. That was a massive comfort. When she passed, you’d think that comfort would end. Although pet grief has become more normalized, many still fear appearing too emotional over an animal’s death. However, she left a greater impact on people than we realized.

The love we’ve received since Penelope’s passing has led to an unexpected transition from sorrow to gratitude. We received messages, flowers, and comfort from family and friends, which lifted us up in our hardest hours. They validated our grief by showing up for us in ways people would for the death of a person. It was a comfort to know that our people were there for us when we needed them the most.

But it was the unexpected people, like our daycare team and groomer, who hammered home the roots of compassion in such a horrid ordeal. Her groomer sent a beautiful bouquet in her honor, along with photos of their sessions together. Her daycare sent us photos they had taken since she started attending, along with a memorial graphic featuring sweet words from the staff about her. These acts of kindness reminded us how grief can shine a light on tenderness and understanding, much like she did for me when she arrived six years ago. It was a last nod to Penelope’s beautiful legacy.

People and pets shape our lives, revealed only in their absence. Loving means eventually letting go. Nothing physical lasts forever. Penelope’s memory is a source of strength. Though her time with us was brief, the love she gave endures and helps us move forward. Her passing illustrates that deep loss transforms us, but the love continues, guiding us through grief. We honor her by carrying her light with us.

Editor: Lucy Cafiero