Bella came into our lives 18 years ago in Big Bear, the very day I proposed to Jaz. She was meant as a gift for my wife, a small, white maltipoo, weighing just eight pounds. At the time, I wasn’t much of a dog lover, but Jaz’s dream was my mission, and without fully realizing it, that tiny puppy quietly nestled into my heart, changing me forever.
I didn’t realize how deeply I had fallen for Bella until I found myself proudly walking her, playfully calling her silly names, scooping up after her without a second thought. I became jealous, even, witnessing the pure devotion she and Jaz shared. Bella was never merely a pet—she was our child, our companion, our comforter.
Bella taught me profound lessons in simple, everyday gestures. She taught me patience and unconditional love, the joy of quiet companionship, and how loyalty is often spoken in silence. She showed me the depth of comfort that comes from a small, loving presence, especially when Jaz faced her hardest days battling cancer. Bella wrapped herself around Jaz, her gentle warmth providing a solace no medicine could replicate.
We lost Bella a week ago. Holding her in our arms as she took her last breath left an emptiness within me so deep, I struggle to say her name or even share news of her passing. Our home is hauntingly silent—no clicking nails across the hardwood floors, no soft snoring, no playful chases around the room. Each room carries a painful echo of her absence.
What hurts most is the constant reminder that a precious piece of our family is gone forever. Bella was never “just a dog”; she was a cornerstone of our lives, forever embedded in thousands of memories and photographs, including our cherished engagement portrait that I see every day.
When I think of Bella, the ache settles heavily in my chest, a raw, lingering pain. It’s difficult to explain to others the depth of our grief—that she was our adopted child, the gentle spirit we never expected would leave so soon. There is no replacement for her presence, no easing of the loss that has profoundly reshaped our daily lives.
We plan to honor Bella by keeping her photos around the house and creating a special album dedicated solely to her memory. We’ve placed her ashes in an urn, awaiting the day when we’ll find the perfect place to memorialize her, alongside the roses Jaz loves so dearly.
I dream Bella is still joyfully running circles around Papa and my aunt somewhere beautiful and peaceful. Someday, when Zyan is old enough, I’ll tell him how Bella taught me to love more deeply, more patiently, and how her gentle presence enriched our lives immeasurably.
If I could introduce Bella to someone new, I would simply say: “This tiny, eight-pound miracle changed our hearts forever. She taught us the true meaning of unconditional love and showed us that life’s greatest moments often lie in the simplest, quietest exchanges.”
She is irreplaceable, unforgettable, deeply loved, and profoundly missed.