Everything is Going to be Ok

I picked up Chia’s keepsakes from her vet today — a small vial of her fur and a clay paw print pressed into warm terracotta. I wasn’t ready to go straight home afterward, so I walked over to a nearby park. The November light filtered softly through the trees — gold, quiet, and a little like memory itself.

I sat for a while, listening to the wind and watching the leaves drift down.

On the picnic table in front of me, I placed the vial and the paw print next to a fallen maple leaf. Inside the glass was a swirl of grey, black, and white — all her colours, perfectly gathered. It felt good to see them together like that, something tangible to hold onto, something that looked undeniably like her. As I leaned back to take a photo, a leaf landed on my shoulder. It felt like a small sign — as if she was letting me know everything was going to be okay.

This park isn’t a place she ever visited, but it’s close to where I last held her. Somehow, that makes it feel connected — like I could meet her halfway between worlds for a few moments.

Chia’s light is still here — in the warmth of a fall day, in the quiet spaces she once filled, in the soft things she’s left behind.