The Year of Firsts

As this year nears its end, I find myself looking back on the highs and lows that have shaped and changed me in ways I never expected. This year has felt like walking a bridge between two worlds: one lined with memories of pawprints and quiet routines and traditions that no longer happen, and the other bursting with the bright, dizzying firsts of my daughter’s life. I keep finding myself caught in the in-between, grieving the spaces Sam and George once filled while celebrating the tiny milestones unfolding right in front of me. It’s a strange kind of whiplash, carrying absence in one hand and newness in the other.

As this year comes to a close, I’ve found myself caught off guard by grief in the moments my dogs would’ve been part of and some that I wish they could have been a part of like meeting our daughter. Then, almost in the same breath, I’m jolted back into the present by the awe and wonder in my daughter’s eyes as she experiences her own firsts. The holidays have been especially tough, and my phone’s memories haven’t missed a beat in reminding me of what’s missing. For years, Sam and George were the stars of Halloween, always in some ridiculous costume that made everyone laugh. This year, for the first time, their costumes stayed tucked away in a sealed storage bag, holding all those joyful memories inside. And for the first time, we dressed up as a human family with our baby. In the middle of the joy we felt, there was still that quiet sting, the ache of missing my first babies.

Thanksgiving was always George’s favorite holiday because it involved an endless parade of food, and Sam loved it for the steady stream of her favorite humans. This year, the season was still full of delicious food and family, but instead of George perched right beside me at the dinner table, my daughter was tasting her first holiday foods with wide-eyed wonder. It felt strange, like something essential was missing, and yet I was also holding everything I’ve ever wanted.

As Christmas decorations have gone up, there aren’t S and G stockings hanging anymore. Instead, their pawprints rest on a red ribbon on our Christmas tree, a quiet symbol of the imprint they left on my heart for the rest of my life. The Christmas season has breathed a new kind of life into me, even through the heaviness of grief. Watching my daughter discover the magic of the season has been a sweet reprieve, a reminder of the little things I might have overlooked if she weren’t here.

It’s been hard to look at the spaces that were once filled with wagging tails and furry paws and not feel the weight of what’s missing. I still catch myself expecting George at my heels, or glancing across the living room for Sam, curled up in the middle of yet another nap. In those moments, grief hits like a gut punch, and almost immediately, guilt follows. I tell myself I should be more grateful, more present, more focused on the blessing of my daughter rather than the absence of who isn’t here. But the truth is, both emotions arrive at the same time, each demanding space, leaving me quiet and numb, unsure of which one I’m allowed to lean into. I try to make room for both, even as grief often slips into the background, crowded out by the beautiful, consuming presence of a baby who needs me. And still, I’m learning that it’s okay to hold all of it at once.

As I prepare to ring in the new year with my dearest friends and family by my side, I want to hold on to every piece of Sam and George while also giving myself permission to step into this new season guilt free. I’m entering 2026 leaving behind one of the greatest chapters of my life and stepping forward into another one filled with hope. I can see their pawprint in the way I show up for my daughter, in the patience and gentleness they taught me without ever saying a word. This new year will bring its own firsts, but my hope is to move into it more open, more grounded, and more aware of the beauty tucked inside both the big moments and the quiet ones. So here’s to carrying what was, embracing what is, and welcoming whatever comes next.