Five Years Without You

Today isn’t meant for sadness. As I sit in my old car outside our house in Limassol, the late December sun warming the leather seats where you used to ride, I’m choosing to celebrate your life instead, Mr. Baciu. Five years have passed since you left us – a number that feels impossible to grasp, heavy with memories yet somehow fleeting.

Those ears would perk up at the slightest jingle of keys, your eyes filled with such heartfelt love that it made every single ride special, no matter where we were going.

Life has a strange way of moving both quickly and slowly after loss. Some days, it feels like yesterday that you’d start your happy screaming at the mere sound of car keys, your whole body shaking with excitement for another adventure. Other moments, especially now, it feels like a lifetime since we last shared these rides together.

You’ve got company up there now. Jocker, your brother who always matched your energy, and since last month, Robin too. Making the decision to let Robin join you broke my heart in ways I didn’t think possible, but seeing him suffer was infinitely worse. I know he’s in good paws now – you always knew how to take care of everyone, how to make them feel safe and loved. I hope you gave him that warm welcome only you knew how to give, with all the enthusiasm and love you used to shower mom and me with.

They say time heals all wounds. I’ve learned it’s more complicated than that. The space you left has gotten easier to carry, but it’s still there, shaped exactly like you. It’s a different kind of pain now though, one that comes with gratitude for having had you in my life at all. Like your favorite toy (and my favorite book) Winnie the Pooh – or Pucho as you knew him – taught us: don’t be sad it’s over, be happy that it happened.

I’ve changed a lot in these five years. Found happiness again, grown in ways I wish I could show you. Sometimes during my best moments, I catch myself looking up, wondering if you’re watching with those loving eyes that always seemed to understand everything, even when I didn’t understand myself. If I could go back, I’d do things differently. I’d find the courage to let you go sooner, before the pain got too much. Your last days were filled with love and care, surrounded by people who adored you, but I know now that sometimes love means letting go earlier than our hearts are ready.

We tried so hard to keep you with us, hoping against hope that you’d get better. Looking back, I understand how selfish that was – our need for more time overshadowing what you might have needed. I hope you forgive us for holding on too tight, and that the medicine helped ease your journey.

Today, I lit your candle and shook the keys one last time, letting the sound echo through the car like it used to through our home. The memories don’t bring tears anymore – just gratitude for the unconditional love you taught me.

I love you buddy. Always, and forever. No matter how many years pass, no matter how life changes, you’ll always be remembered and loved – my forever faithful friend.

Love from Limassol,
Julian