The Space Between My Heartbeats

The sun rose tenderly this Tuesday, a shy light spilling across the dew-soaked grass. The air carried a chill that clung to my skin, the kind of morning that feels like the world is holding its breath. It had been one year since Abby’s paws last touched this earth. One year since her soft golden fur brushed against my leg, her eyes full of trust that only a dog so close to heaven could give.

Her ashes rested in a small vessel along with a tuff of her golden fur, warmed from the morning light that streamed through the car window. I held it close as if I could still feel the rhythm of her heart inside. The hum of the engine was the only sound, broken now and then by the faint jingle of her old collar that we’d brought along.

Our first stop was the landing by the lake. The air smelled of cattails and autumn water, sweet and sharp all at once. This was where Abby ran free, chasing the wind as though it was calling her by name. As we opened the vessel, the ashes lifted softly into the breeze. They shimmered for a moment, tiny stars in daylight before dancing over the water’s surface. Ripples formed and drifted outward, like her spirit expanding into the vastness she always seemed to belong to.

We stood in silence. The only sound was the soft lapping of the lake, and somewhere, a single loon calling from across the water. It felt as if the world itself bowed its head.

Later, we walked her favorite trail where her pawprints once led us. The ground was soft with fallen leaves, the scent of pine and earth rising with every step. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, catching the faint curl of ash as it met the roots of old oaks. A golden leaf drifted down and landed where she once loved to rest. In that moment, I felt her, closer than breath, lighter than air, her spirit folded into everything around me.

We kept the rest of her ashes. Not as sorrow, but as promise. One day, when my own body returns to dust, her spirit and mine will blend together, our ashes mingling like the meeting of river and sea. Two souls, one current, flowing home.

There’s peace in knowing she isn’t gone. She’s the shimmer in the morning lake, the hush of the woods, the warmth that brushes my shoulder when the wind moves. Abby didn’t leave; she simply changed form, becoming everything that love cannot lose.