Our Last Day: Bosphorus and the Gift of Presence
I still remember the moments I first began to notice Bosphorus slowing down. How he hesitated before jumping onto the bed and in the car, how our long walks started to become shorter, his naps longer, his sleeps deeper and snores louder, and his once boundless daily energy now ebbing with the days. At first, I brushed it off—an off day here and there, maybe a little stiffness. But deep down, I knew he was shifting and changing with age. And with that realization, an ache settled into my heart, grief landing inside for what was changing before my eyes.
Loss comes to us in many forms, but with our pets, it often begins long before their final goodbye. It starts in the small, almost imperceptible ways—when their bodies grow tired when they take more time to get up when their enthusiasm for favourite activities begins to wane. This loss isn’t just about their eventual passing; it’s about witnessing the life you shared starting to transform into something different. The reality of your time together is lessening. The grief it brings is anticipatory, and it is real.
Anticipatory grief is a complex mixture of emotions—sadness, frustration, fear, and even guilt. It arises when we become aware of our pet’s mortality, a stark contrast to how they once seemed invincible.
As Bosphorus aged, our vet visits became more frequent. I held my breath each time, dreading bad news and feeling immense relief when nothing was found. Until one day, there was something—a diagnosis I wasn’t ready for. A large inoperable tumor. And I now had just 24 hours left with him.
A storm of emotions swept over me, but in the midst of it, I knew one thing: I would cherish every second we had. When the weight of it all became too much, and I collapsed in tears, Bosphorus patiently sat beside me. After a while, he licked my face as if to say, "Let’s go for a walk; we still have time." So I wiped my face, got up, and we went.
It was the most present I had ever been. He walked like his old self, leading me with quiet purpose down the driveway and out on the dirt road heading towards the neighbour’s house. He trotted like his young self down their long driveway, peeing on every fence post. I laughed and asked, What are you doing? He looked at me, his eyes full of knowing, and said, I don’t want Ella to forget me. (Ella was the neighbour’s dog—his friend.)
I watched them lie together in the grass, sharing an unspoken goodbye. Ella’s mom and I stood nearby, talking and crying, soaking in the sunlight, the gentle breeze and the singing birds, bearing witness to the moment. After a while, Bosphorus got up, gave Ella one last look, and we walked back home through the forest.
We sat silently on our deck, watching the clouds and the mountains. Bosphorus had never been one for cuddling outside of naps on the bed, and true to himself, we didn’t need words or touch. We were—wrapped in love, presence, and a deep, unshakable connection. ( I wanted to wrap my arms around and hug him tight, but he never liked that; he liked his space, and I honoured him. He preferred “kissing” my face in return- he did that a lot!). Even now, I can feel it as I write this. It brings tears of sadness, joy, warmth, and gratitude for the life we shared and the love that remains.
If you’ve found yourself in this place—watching your beloved companion slow down, grappling with the ache of knowing their time with you is finite—I want you to know you are not alone. The pain is real, but so is the love that carries you through it.
There is a gift hidden within this season of change: the opportunity to be fully present. The chance to slow down and hold space for the love you and your pet share. It’s in these moments—when you gently help them up the stairs, sit quietly by their side, whisper your love into their fur—that your bond deepens in a way that transcends time.
Bosphorus taught me that grief and love go hand in hand. Even in the heartache, there is a way to turn this time into something sacred, something filled with connection rather than regret. It’s not about fixing what cannot be fixed but about embracing the journey together, honouring every moment, and making space for the emotions that arise along the way.
One of my reasons for creating the ‘Embracing Deeper Connections’ workshop is to offer a space to learn how to navigate the time you have with a greater sense of presence and love. If you’re walking this road with your pet, this workshop is for you. It’s a place to find support, guidance, and tools to help you hold onto the love rather than just the pain.
“Grief may be part of this journey, but so is love. When nurtured with presence, love becomes the most powerful force of all.”
Do you want to understand your anticipatory grief and how you can be more present with your pet and yourself in your situation?
Explore our workshops to learn new ways to deepen your connection and attunement with your pet and better support yourself in your anticipatory grief.
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This is an unedited photo taken by my niece, Wesli Boudreau, capturing our love.
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