A few days after my last post here on this blog, Butters’ kidneys started to fail.
On January 16, 2026, Butters left this physical world.
In the days following her passing, I cried uncontrollably, as expected. For two weeks, I canceled all client-related meetings to grieve and gain some sense of equilibrium. Months later, I am not “over” the loss of Butters. However, I’ve learned so much about love, letting go, and living with the memories of what once was.
Right now, I reflect on the moment she left and try to understand why this loss has been so utterly devastating. I have lost loved ones and friends in my life, but Butters’ departure was an entirely different experience.
The decision to end her life on her behalf was excruciating, traumatizing, and felt deeply unfair.
The moment before the vet injected her, I saw an expression on Butters’ face I had not seen in a long time. She was alert, full of life, and curious. She looked around the room, at us, and then fell into her final sleep.
In the days after her death, I read a couple of books about pet loss and even attended a support group. The facilitator, a psychologist, said it is common for people to describe something similar. Right before animals are euthanized, they sometimes “rally” for their people.
Maybe that was the last gift Butters left for us, so that we could remember how alive she was before she got sick
What makes losing her so hard is something else the facilitator said: “Because she was by your side for 15 years, Butters was a witness to your life.”
That comment resonated and stayed with me. She was by my side as I constantly evolved and tried to make sense of my life.
Months have passed since that comment. Now what? I keep asking myself.
Yet again, I am trying to figure out what the next phase of life will look like. But this time, I take comfort in knowing that Butters will bear witness in a different way. She is no longer physically by my side, but her spirit and love will forever be with me.
Butters and me. Our first home in Santa Barbara, 2013.
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