It’s strange how a single morning can divide a life—into the time when he was here, and the time after. Today, the air felt different. It was too still. The light was too pale, and the silence in the corners of my home wasn’t just quiet—it was hollow. This morning, I said goodbye to the one soul who had been with me longer than anyone else. Fifteen years. Fifteen winters. Fifteen summers. Fifteen years of small, sacred moments that now feel like falling stars—brilliant, fleeting, and suddenly out of reach. His name was Cloud. He wasn’t just my dog. He was the constant I didn’t realize I was leaning on. The gentle rhythm in a chaotic world. The one who saw every version of me and never once walked away.

When he first entered my life, he was so small, barely larger than my hands, unsure of the world, trembling with newness. I remember the first time he curled up beside me—tiny, silent, trusting. I named him Cloud because of the way he moved like mist, the way he slept like a wisp of fog at my feet, the way he softened everything without trying. That name became a promise. He was never loud. Never demanding. He was just there—with those soft, knowing eyes and a quiet loyalty that made the world feel less sharp.

Cloud walked with me through everything—through heartbreaks I thought would break me, through joy that made me believe again, through the dull, grey in-betweens that fill most of life. When no one else stayed, he did. When I didn’t know how to speak the words out loud, he seemed to understand them anyway. He never needed to talk. His love lived in the small things: a head on my lap, a tail thumping gently against the floor when I walked in the room, the warmth pressed against my side when I fell asleep, knowing I was never truly alone. He was my calm, my comfort, my unspoken grace.

Time, however, is merciless. It crept in slowly—first as more naps, a little stiffness, a little less appetite, then as vet visits, medications, and the weight of dread I tried to pretend I didn’t feel. I watched him slow down, even as he tried to follow me like he always had. I watched the light in his eyes flicker—not fade, but grow tired. I knew the day would come. I tried to prepare for it. But how do you prepare for the moment your world loses its gentlest light?

This morning, I held his body against mine, felt the rise and fall of his chest slow like a closing book, and looked into his eyes one last time. He looked back with something so full of peace it shattered me. No fear. No pain. Just trust. Just love. Just the softest goodbye. His final breath was quiet—like a sigh at the end of a long, beautiful story. I kept my hand on his fur, not because I thought it would change anything, but because I wasn’t ready to let go of something that had never once let go of me.

Now, the house is filled with echoes. His favorite blanket is still folded on the chair. His leash hangs by the door, untouched. I still find myself looking over my shoulder, expecting to see him trailing behind me like a small storm cloud of comfort. I still move carefully around the spot where he used to nap, as if he might still be there. Grief has made the ordinary feel unreal. And yet, in all that sadness, there is something sacred. Because loving him was the purest thing I’ve ever done. And letting him go—no matter how much it hurt—was the final act of love I could give him.

Somewhere, I like to believe he’s running again—chasing wind, rolling in soft grass, ears flopping and eyes bright. Somewhere he’s free of time, free of pain, and still curled like mist beneath a sky that finally took its Cloud back. I will carry him with me, not just in memory, but in the very shape of who I’ve become. Because he changed me. He softened the edges of my world. He taught me how to be still, how to love quietly, how to find joy in simply being with someone.

So sleep well, my Cloud. Thank you—for every nudge, every sigh, every quiet moment you chose to spend beside me. Thank you for every year, every season, every heartbeat we shared. You were never “just a dog.” You were a piece of home. And though you’ve gone where I cannot follow yet, you’ve left behind a kind of love that will never leave.

Until we meet again—beneath softer skies,
I’ll look for you in the morning mist. 🌙🐾