We’d been dealing with her decline for a while. She was 13 going on 14, ill, losing sight, and we’d done the rounds – vet visits, trying to help, hoping for a turn. This week she barely ate. Then today she surprised me and I told my wife about it with excitement: two whole bowls – one in the morning, one late afternoon – like a tiny comeback. And then her eye got massively swollen, and she just laid there. I didn’t see it, just happened, the swelling I mean. My wife called me and said her eye, it was bulged and started bleeding. I mean, the days prior she seemed very unrestful, kept moving, kept sleeping, losing weight. Not resting, though. Not “tired.” You could tell: that was it.
At the vet, waiting, she slept deep. Not being her. In the office, the same. She just lay there like she was signaling: “I know this is it. Thank you for adopting me and taking care of me. I’ll see you on the other side.”
My wife and I were devastated. We adopted her from hard circumstances at roughly 7 months.
I’m not writing this for sympathy. I’m writing it because moments like this don’t just break your heart. They also sharpen your priorities.
The Part No One Prepares You For: “Knowing” Without Words
People talk about loss like it’s one moment. One event. One “before” and “after.” But the real thing is messier.
There’s the lead-up – the appointments, the uncertainty, the small hopes you cling to because that’s what you do when you love something. And then there’s this strange, quiet clarity when your brain stops negotiating and your body just knows. I can’t prove it. I don’t need to. If you’ve been there, you recognize it instantly.
And the blunt truth about it is simple, albeit it still feeling very unfair. You can do everything “right” and still lose. That’s not pessimism. That’s reality.
And reality has a weird gift: it strips away the nonsense.
What Loss Does (If You Let It)
Loss is a brutal editor.
It cuts out:
-
petty grudges
-
“I’ll do it later”
-
pointless busyness
-
performative productivity
And it highlights:
-
who you love
-
what you’ve been postponing
-
what you’ve been numbing with noise
The tempting response is to “move on” fast. Get back to normal. Fill the calendar. Distract yourself into productivity so you can feel in control again.
That’s one option.
But if you want the lesson without the spiral, there’s a better move: use the moment to live deliberately – starting small.
Living Deliberately Isn’t a Personality Trait
It’s not a vibe. It’s a practice.
Most people think living deliberately requires a big life overhaul: quit your job, move countries, start a foundation, wake up at 4:30am and drink something green.
No.
Living deliberately is usually just choosing the right next thing – on purpose.
Here’s what I mean, in practical terms.
A simple “deliberate living” checklist (useful on hard days)
- Name what’s true (in one sentence). “This hurts.” / “This is the end of a chapter.” / “I’m sad and I can’t fix it.”
- Do the next responsible thing. One call. One message. One small task that keeps life moving without pretending you’re fine.
- Protect a quiet pocket of time. No scrolling. No filling the silence immediately. Ten minutes is enough.
- Reach out to one person. Not for advice. Not for solutions. Just to be human for a minute.
That’s deliberate. Not glamorous. But real.
Grief Doesn’t Need A Plan – It Needs Space
I’m no therapist, and I’m not going to pretend there’s a clean framework for grief. But I’ve noticed this: people don’t struggle because they feel pain. They struggle because they try to out-run it. Grief is heavy, yes. But it’s also honest. It shows you what you valued.
And tonight, the value is obvious: loyalty, presence, care, and the simple goodness of a dog who trusted us all the way to the end.
The “HK Moment” I’ll Admit Out Loud
I told my wife over the past weeks, whenever she noted the state of Yara, that she needs to mentally prepare herself for this. I am not one to cry. My wife has seen me cry a handful of times – and this doesn’t mean I am one hard mother F*. It just means I like to think more rational then emotional. So, part of me wants to be efficient about this. Like I can tick a box: sadness processed, moving on.
That’s not how it works. And honestly, thank God it’s not.
Because if love is real, the loss should cost something.
The Reminder I’m Taking From Tonight
Here’s the part that sticks: she didn’t need a perfect life. She needed a cared-for life.
And that applies to us too.
A deliberate life isn’t a flawless one. It’s one where you show up – more often than you don’t – for what matters.
So if you’re reading this and you’ve been waiting for the “right time” to:
-
call someone you love
-
take care of your health
-
fix the thing you keep avoiding
-
stop treating your days like disposable cups
This is your nudge, from me to you. Not a motivational poster. A real nudge.
Because the truth is simple and inconvenient:
We don’t get unlimited ordinary days.
Key Takeaways
- Loss is painful, but it can also clarify priorities fast.
- Living deliberately isn’t a reinvention – it’s choosing the next right action on purpose.
- Don’t rush to “move on” by filling every silence. Give grief a little room.
- A good life is rarely perfect. It’s cared for, consistent, and present.
- If you keep postponing what matters, today is a good day to stop negotiating.
One Challenge (next 24 hours)
Do one deliberate thing that you’ve been postponing – small, specific, and human:
- Send a message to someone you love: one sentence, no drama, just truth. Something like “Thinking about you. I appreciate you.”
- Or do a 15-minute “care task” you keep dodging (health appointment, finances check-in, cleaning one corner, whatever).
- Then sit in silence for 10 minutes – no phone – just to let your mind catch up with your life.
That’s it. One deliberate act. One small pocket of space.
If you knew you were closer to the end of a chapter than you think, what would you stop delaying this week?
Thank you to my wife and children for being there. Yara, we will miss you.
Mindset First. Keep thriving!
