It's been eight months since my first rescue dog, Mahoni, passed away.
This morning, I woke up at the break of dawn longing for her: the sound of her paws, her big brown eyes, her gorgeous brown coat, and her burying her beautiful face under my arms. I miss all those things.
I thought I was okay and had come to terms with the end of our 11-year relationship. But that morning, I realized something new; being okay has nothing to do with grief.
To spare you the intricate details, Mahoni was my rock during my formative years in Bali. I was going through a rough time and made a lot of wrong decisions in trying to fill the void. I was also entangled in toxic relationships.
Mahoni was the one I could be completely honest with. Sure, she had her infamous side eye and reactive behaviors towards certain people, but her unwavering love always outweighed my pain. We shared highs and lows with tears and laughter, and even though I've managed to rebuild my life and have been blessed with wonderful friends, family, and more dogs to love, Mahoni's place is irreplaceable.
I'm okay living my life without her by my side, but I'm better when I can revisit our stories every now and then.
This is the grief I've chosen to endure, and I'll be eternally grateful for it.
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