Dear Editor,
In a town like ours, where people look out for one another, we do not talk enough about why losing a pet is so devastating. Some say, “she was just a dog,” but anyone who has cared for an aging or terminally ill companion knows there is nothing “just” about it. Pets become part of the rhythm of our days — the footsteps behind us, the soft sighs from the next room, the presence that makes a house feel like home.
My dog Molly has been in her final illness, and walking this road with her has shown me why this grief cuts so deeply. In these last weeks, every detail mattered. I watched her breathing, her appetite, her energy. I adjusted her care hour by hour, so she stayed comfortable. Even as her body weakened, she still followed me from room to room, still wanted to be near her people, still trusted us completely. That trust is a gift — and a responsibility that grows heavier as the end approaches.
What makes this kind of loss so hard is that we become their advocates, their comfort, their voice. We make decisions rooted in love, even when they break our hearts. When Molly stopped eating and her breathing grew fast and shallow, I knew what it meant. Loving her meant being strong enough to let her go gently.
Grief for a pet is real grief. It’s the ache of a routine suddenly broken. Molly was loved every day of her life, and she left this world knowing it. RIP Molly (9/12/2018 – 03/25/2026) Damn Cancer
Susan Stone
