Aurora’s Gotcha Day
Love Doesn’t End When the Body Does
Some loves stay with you long after their physical presence is gone.
Today is Aurora’s Gotcha Day.
Seven years ago, the day before I turned thirty, a blue pitbull came into my life and quietly changed the shape of my world.
At the time, I couldn’t have known how deeply she would become part of my life. I didn’t know that she would witness so many seasons of growth, change, heartbreak, healing, and becoming.
I didn’t know she would become my soul dog.
All I knew was that something inside me said yes.
Looking back now, it feels like one of those moments life places quietly in front of you. The kind of moment that seems small at the time but ends up shaping far more than you realize.
Aurora didn’t enter my life with drama or urgency.
She arrived with presence.
Steady.
Grounded.
Certain.
And over the years, that presence became one of the most constant forms of love I have ever known.
Aurora had a way of simply being beside me.
Not asking for anything.
Not needing anything complicated.
Just there.
And in that presence, she witnessed so much of my life.
She was there through seasons of growth, heartbreak, healing, rebuilding, and becoming. Through the quiet days and the harder ones. Through the moments when life felt expansive and the moments when it felt uncertain.
She saw every version of me.
And she loved me through all of them.
That is the quiet miracle of a soul dog.
Their love does not ask you to perform.
It does not ask you to prove anything.
It simply stays.
This Gotcha Day feels different.
It is my first one without her physical body here.
To think that it has been almost four months without her still feels surreal at times. Some days the time feels impossibly long. Other days it feels like it has passed in the blink of an eye.
Not a day goes by where I don’t think of her.
Mama still cries most days at some level. Sometimes it’s a quiet tear that comes and goes quickly. Sometimes it’s a deeper wave of missing her that rises unexpectedly.
But grief is simply love with nowhere to go.
And Aurora gave me so much love.
Her body may have completed its time here, but her essence is still with me.
If anything, I feel her presence in a different way now.
Quieter, but somehow wider.
Less physical, but still deeply familiar.
I notice her presence most at night. When I climb into bed, that’s when I feel her the strongest.
Most nights I pray to her before I fall asleep. The nights I don’t are usually the ones where I’m simply too tired and fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.
Sometimes I can almost feel her nuzzle into me the way she used to.
She had this gentle way of pressing close, like she was making sure we were both exactly where we were supposed to be.
Luna notices her too. There are moments when Luna will suddenly stare at a spot in the room with a calm familiarity, like she recognizes the presence there. It’s the same quiet knowing they always shared.
Sometimes it shows up as a sense of calm that wasn’t there a moment before.
Sometimes it’s a memory that surfaces at exactly the moment I need it.
Sometimes it’s simply the feeling that she is still walking beside me, just in a form I cannot see.
Love like that doesn’t disappear.
It changes shape.
The longer I sit with the experience of loving a soul dog, the more I believe that animals enter our lives through something deeper than coincidence.
They arrive in our lives through a kind of soul agreement.
Not necessarily forever.
But for exactly the chapter we need them.
They ground us when life feels overwhelming.
They mirror love in its purest form.
They teach us presence without words.
Aurora taught me so much while she was here.
Presence.
Loyalty.
Stillness.
Unconditional love.
And even now, she continues to teach me something new.
How love continues even when the body completes its time here.
Since she passed four months ago, there have been so many “firsts” without her. The first holidays. The first quiet moments where her absence is felt in a new way.
It doesn’t necessarily get easier. But knowing that her essence is still with us steadies the heart.
The humanness in me still wishes she were physically here. It sometimes feels like her time was too short.
And yet, another part of me knows the way she left was perfect in its own way.
If you have ever loved an animal deeply, you probably understand this kind of bond. The quiet companionship. The way they become woven into the rhythm of daily life. The way their presence fills a home without needing words.
And when they leave their physical body, the space they occupied doesn’t truly disappear.
It simply becomes a different kind of presence.
Aurora’s birthday was December 14th, a date that now feels like another quiet thread woven into our story.
I’ve also come to appreciate the deeper meaning of her name.
Aurora means dawn, the first light that appears after darkness. It’s also the name given to the northern lights, those beautiful waves of color that move quietly across the sky.
Looking back, the name feels fitting.
Aurora brought a kind of light into my life that changed me.
And even now, that light hasn’t disappeared.
Seven years ago, I thought I was bringing home a dog.
What I was really receiving was one of the deepest loves of my life.
Aurora didn’t leave my life. She simply changed the way she walks beside me.
