On Grief, Love, and Letting Go

There are certain companions who don’t just walk beside us, they become part of the fabric of our soul. Molly, my miniature dachshund, was one of those companions.

I won’t retell the full story of how she left. Some things are too tender to lay out in detail. What I will say is that I was traveling for work, and when I left home, everything was ordinary. She ate breakfast. She went outside. She let me give her scratchies. And then I drove away.

Later that day, things changed quickly. She became very sick. Despite the love and care of my family, she declined fast. I did everything I could to get back in time, but the universe had other plans. My flight was cancelled. She passed before I could say goodbye.

It felt cruel. And empty. And wrong. And yet, even in the pain, I heard a whisper I’ve come to trust.You weren’t meant to be there.

The Sacred Space Between Souls

In the days after Molly’s passing, I sat with that message—you weren’t meant to be there. It wasn't at all soothing. I knew it to be true, but that didn't mean it was easy to accept. Like everyone else, I was stuck on "why?". Why did this happen? Why did it happen at this time?

Nothing helped. I limped through my days, sporadically crying every time I thought of her... when I was putting groceries away (she should be here under foot looking at me for a treat) and when I was walking outside to water flowers and instinctively said, "Miss Molly go for a walk?." Brutal.

Some spiritual teachings say that souls, especially animal souls, need space to depart. That our presence, especially when wrapped in deep love, can hold them here longer than they’re meant to stay. Out of devotion. Out of loyalty. Out of that invisible thread they don’t want to cut.

I believe Molly loved me so much that she might have stayed in her pain—just to make me feel like I’d done enough. But that’s not what love asks of us. And it’s not what she needed.

What Grief Taught Me (This Time)

Grief, as it turns out, isn’t a single emotion. It’s a room with many doors. One moment you’re numb. The next, you’re bargaining. Then angry. Then laughing at an old video of your dog spinning in circles before breakfast.

And when that love was born from a pet? It’s a very particular kind of sacred. Animals don’t judge us. They don’t hold grudges. They live to be near us, to protect us, to remind us what it means to be fully present. When they go, the silence is louder. The house feels off-balance. The routines unravel.

What I am learning is this: Grief is love, trying to find its way somewhere new.

Spiritual Teachings on Pet Loss

So many traditions believe that animals are not just companions, but soul teachers. They are healers, messengers, protectors, and mirrors of our soul.

In Shamanic traditions, animals are viewed as spirit allies. Each one carries a particular medicine, or teaching, meant to guide us in both the physical and spiritual realms. A dog, in this lens, represents loyalty, unconditional love, and spiritual guardianship. When one passes, it is said their spirit may remain as a protector until we are steady again.

In Buddhism, animals are included in the cycle of samsara—the wheel of life, death, and rebirth. This means their souls are evolving too. When we grieve a pet, we are not only honoring their time in this form but also sending loving energy forward into whatever form they take next.

The Ancient Egyptians believed pets returned to the spiritual world to assist the gods. To them, animals were not “lesser” beings but bridges between human experience and the divine.

And in many Indigenous teachings, animals come to us when we need their energy the most—and leave when their lesson is complete. Their departure is not abandonment but transformation. The bond continues, just in a new form.

In all of these traditions, the message is clear: Their spirit is not gone. It has just changed shape.

You may sense them in dreams. Feel them brush past your legs. Hear their paws in your memory so vividly you could swear it’s real. That’s not imagination. That’s connection.

You can still talk to them. You can still love them. And they can still love you back. I believe Molly’s soul and mine are still in dialogue. I talk to her when the house is too quiet. I see her out of the corner of my eye, darting through the veil in dreams. I believe she’s still watching, still loving, still whispering things I need to hear. And I believe your lost pets are doing the same for you.

A Gentle Ritual for Those Grieving

If you're holding grief right now—especially the kind that feels unspoken because "it was just a pet"—please know that your sorrow is sacred. That bond you shared was pure. It deserves to be honored.

Here’s a simple ritual to help:

• Light a candle in their honor. Say their name.

• Place a photo or collar or toy beside it.

• Speak aloud one thing you learned from them. One joy they gave you. One way they made you better.

• When you're ready, close with a message of release: You were so loved. You are still so loved. You may go in peace.

Even if your goodbye didn’t happen the way you imagined, like in my situation, the love still exists. The thread is never broken.

I Wasn't Meant to be There.

I’m still grieving. That won’t change overnight. But I also know now that Molly's passing happened the way it needed to—for her, and maybe for me, too.

Some goodbyes don’t come in person. Some come in the form of intuition, dreams, or a sudden breeze through the room at just the right moment. And if we’re willing to receive them, those goodbyes can become beginnings.

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