When my mother was dying, I thought I had prepared myself.
I had been through loss before; my grandmother, my brother, my father, countless friends.
But nothing prepares you for your mother. Nothing prepares you for that particular goodbye.

My mom died of pulmonary hypertension.
It’s not a flashy disease. It’s slow. It robs the breath, day by day.
Watching someone lose their breath slowly is like watching a candle burn down from the inside out.

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The Three Days

Toward the end, she had a massive heart attack.
Not the kind that kills you outright, but the kind that leaves you still here, still suffering.
She spent three full days in bed, barely moving, sick, uncomfortable. She didn’t speak much, she didn’t eat.
She was leaving, but not quickly. Not easily.

And the person who stayed with her every second, without leaving her side wasn’t a person at all.

It was my dog, Sadie.

Sadie never left the bed.
Didn’t eat.
Didn’t go outside.
Didn’t respond to me calling.

She just lay there, pressed against my mother, as if she had appointed herself guardian of the crossing.
And in some sacred, silent way, I think she had.

When my mom died, Sadie was still there.
When everyone else was wrapped up in the chaos of grief, or possessions, or the discomfort of it all…

Sadie simply stayed.

Without her, I would have been alone in that room when my mother left this world.

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The Distraction of “Stuff”

While my mom lay dying, her family buzzed like flies around a body that hadn’t cooled.

They texted. Called. Asked what they were getting.
“Can I have her jewelry?”
“Did she leave anything for me?”
“Don’t forget about that table she promised me.”

They circled her belongings like she was already gone. Like her life had ended and they were owed something for it.

I was angry.
But mostly, I was tired. Tired of protecting her peace when others seemed more concerned about what she left behind than the fact that she was still, barely, here.

It was Sadie who reminded me what really mattered.

Presence.
Stillness.
Love without agenda.

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Why There Are Dogs on This Page

This website, Coffee with the Dogs, is about grief.
It’s about death.
It’s about what happens when people we love go, and how we go on.

But it’s also about the companions who stay.
The ones who sit vigil with us.
The ones who don’t ask for anything.
The ones who don’t speak but say everything.

Sadie was my hospice nurse. My grief doula. My reminder that love can be wordless and full.
She was not just a pet. She was my witness.

And so, when I help others navigate loss, I do it in honor of that unwavering presence. That quiet loyalty. That unbreakable bond of love.

This space is for the messy, sacred, unspeakably hard parts of grief.
And also, for the soft, steady heartbeat of a dog who lays beside you and simply says,
“I’m here.”