06/04/2026
Our sweet Toulah is nearing the end of her life.
She has advanced heart disease. She still wags her tail when we walk through the door. She still enjoys being with us. And every once in a while, she surprises us with a burst of energy that makes us forget, for a moment, how much things have changed.
Over the last few months, I've found myself holding two truths at the same time: she is still here, and she is also not well.
As I've sat with that tension, I've thought about how often I've sat with a similar tension as a parent.
A child can be deeply loved and still hurting.
A parent can be doing everything possible and still not be able to make things better, to undo a hurt their child has experienced or replace a parent they long for.
There can be moments of joy, connection, and hope while something important is also profoundly sad.
One of the hardest things we are ever asked to do in this life is stop arguing with reality and begin accepting it.
Acceptance is not the same thing as hopelessness. It is simply the willingness to see clearly what is here, to feel it, to welcome it—to recognize the pain in moments of suffering and joy when glimmers of light and love shine brightly 🤍
Lately, this has been my work: to appreciate the moments that are still good and to grieve what is changing. I am trying to be present to both at the same time.
And to remember that love and grief are not opposites. More often than not, grief is simply what love feels like when something precious is changing.