Grieving.

My summer this summer had been... interesting. It definitely had its ups, like using my rent money to buy a Reading festival ticket last minute and see my favourite band live, get incredibly drunk and live in a tent of my own filth for a weekend. But it also had its lows, like the worst day of my life. The day where I lost my four legged best friend.


I know what you're thinking, it was just a pet right? How can someone be THAT upset about a pet?



You're wrong. You're so wrong.



I had grown up with my dog Stella. I had her since I was 5, and she was always there. She was the best part about coming home, just to know that I had a big slobbery welcome waiting for me when I came home, or someone to share my bed with on those cold nights. She was the dog with the biggest personality, we had a joke in my house that one day she was going to start talking to me.  But none of that is happening to me anymore.

The day she passed away will be forever etched into my head, it'll be one I will never forget. A little backstory to this, Stella had a heart condition ever since she was a puppy and has been in and out of the vets ever since we had her. So one morning when everyone in my house had work or school (myself included) it was like any other morning until my mum noticed that Stella wasn't her usual self. She was stuck in her bed and couldn't get out of it, immediately we all thought it was something wrong with her heart and mum took the morning off and took her to the vets. However I couldn't do the same.

I spent half of my day at work checking my phone constantly, and trying not to burst into tears on my boss.
Until I got that phone call.
That phone call where everything changed.  It was my mum saying that Stella was on our way out and this was my time to say my final goodbye.

My world just.. stopped.



It stopped for about two weeks, I took a lot of time off work, I stopped seeing my friends, ate my body weight in ice cream and cried about a fork. Nothing I could do or even think of, I couldn't escape the thought of her not being there. I didn't have anymore big welcome homes, no more bed sharing and no more random talking to her. She was gone, I was alone.  Part of me died with her that day. My childhood died. So I tried to escape it.


I worked and worked and worked. I worked so much that i'd come in and climb into bed, sleep the night to only get back up for work the next day. I didn't want to think so I tried to run so far away from my grieving, because if I didn't grieve she'd come surely come back, right? Wrong.

Life was empty and so was I, but life was catching up with me. I had to go back to uni in a couple of weeks, I couldn't of gone in the state I was in. I had to sort myself out.
So I let it out, I cried and I cried, I cried over the silly things like not having her bed to trip over in the mornings, or having her moan at me of a night time when I was keeping her up on my laptop.
I got a tattoo for her, on my ribs as close to my heart as I could've gotten for her. I got photos blown up of her, I spoke about her to my friends and laughed with them about the memories they had of her aswell.


It helped, i've come to terms that she's gone physically. But she's forever living in my heart in her memories and in on the photos I have stuck all over my walls. Not a day will go by that I won't think of her, or miss her with every single part of me.



R.I.P Stella, my silver haired princess. I love you, always.