Four weeks. Today marks four weeks that I lost my heart. You. You were my heart, my whole world, for so long. I loved you before I even met you. I remember the day Grandmommy and Pop pops told me I was going to get you; we were having a family menu-planning session. Exasperated, I cried out, “I can’t think about it! All I can think about is puppy!” It was my 26th birthday, and when I came home from work, there was a framed photo of a beagle puppy announcing you’d be mine in just a few weeks. From that moment on, you were my world. I had to wait four long weeks to meet you, and now, it’s been four excruciatingly long weeks after saying goodbye.

Very few people understand our profound bond. I was in a dark place when God sent you into my life. I was in the midst of 8 grueling months of therapy for eating disorders and suicidal ideation and attempt. I’ve never shared with anyone the details of therapy, not even my little family, but those were intense times. I couldn’t see a way through, all I could think about was ending my life to end the pain. Therapy was simultaneously brutal and relieving, but let’s not go there now. You knew.

Then, June 2, 2012, everything changed.

I met you.

You were there, with your lemon and white mama beagle and your tri-colored sister, backed in a corner of pine shavings. Characteristic of you, stubbornly, you wouldn’t budge from that corner. Unreachable. But you’d already reached my heart and burrowed way down deep. A few moments later, you were in my arms, and we’ve been nearly inseparable since.

Days were brighter, you were my sunshine. Your immediate and unconditional love wrapped around me and gave life meaning and purpose. Taking care of you and loving you was my purpose. That summer, you saved me from suicide. You knew. I knew. No one else needs to know the details, but our bond was forged and is even yet unbreakable.

You were with me through so many of the big moments of my life—graduating with my RN BSN (thank you for helping me study; your gentle snores kept me on task), dating and marrying Daddy-Rudy (thank you for being a part of my wedding!), having a baby girl (thank you for taking your guard duty so seriously), losing all my grandparents (thank you for being the ever-present sunshine), and for all the in-betweens. You were always there. You’ve always been there.

Ironically, for a writer, this is strangely difficult to write. I think because there’s just so much. How could I ever condense nearly 14 years of memories into a simple blog? Almost every memory includes you. If you couldn’t go somewhere, I almost always refused to go. You were my safe place, my best buddy, my emotional support. I didn’t have you trained to be “official,” and it always irked me to see service dogs in public places where you were unwelcome because though you weren’t official, you were mine. We knew. You understood me and intuitively knew what I needed. It was always you and your steady breath that calmed me. Bentley, sacrificing events for the past year so I could stay home with you was an honor. Really, there’s no place I’d rather be anyway. I have no regrets on missing out on things—I had you, which is all I really wanted. You were love on four legs with a dancing tail and flopsy ears.

You loved us so big and so well. And how we loved you. When you were 3, we added Daddy to our little family. Then, when you were 4, we added Lily Willow. You approved of them both! When you were still able, every evening around 6:00, you’d perch on the back of the couch and look for Daddy to come home. As soon as you heard his noisy truck, you’d start your “arooooorooooorooooos.” When you were no longer able to jump up on the furniture, you’d still hear his truck coming and call out your greeting. I miss it all. On your 10th birthday, Luna was born, so we added her to our little family. Then, finally, Ruby completed us when you were 12. I loved calling you “The Matriarch.”

I’m constantly bumping into the little pieces of you and memories you left behind. Last night, I finally rolled out my yoga mat, the one that was your favorite, and there were tiny Bentley-hairs all over it. Bittersweet. You’re still making me smile. It’s lonely on the mat now, though, and in my bed and in the kitchen and on the bath mat when I get out of the shower and on the deck and in my car (front seat will always be yours) and everywhere. You were always, always with me.

I don’t just notice your absence, D, I feel it. Four weeks ago, we all walked into the vet with you not realizing we’d be leaving without you. Yes, there were signs of aging, but you’d overcome so much. After I saw your x-ray image and understood what you were struggling with, I couldn’t comprehend how you were breathing or walking. I still can’t. Bentley-girl, you’re the strongest one I know. You had a solid tumor half as big as you, but you still wanted to walk with us rather than ride in your doggy-stroller. You were deathly anemic, but you still refused to potty in the house and went outside down the stairs anyway—even in subzero weather. You had arthritis, but still chose to come along on our long walk days. You battled seizures, at least 3 strokes, dementia, and partial blindness, but you still carried on. You never complained or seemed in pain. I even asked Dr. Carter that day if you were in pain because you hid it really well. All you wanted was to be where I was and make me happy.

You did, Bentley bear. You did. You were my joy and my sunshine, and you went well above and beyond. To me, you were perfect in every single way. You were for me, I was for you, and we were for each other. God knew what I needed—and He gave me you.

Letting you go was the hardest moment of my life, and I’m not sure I’ll ever go a day without crying from missing you—it’s visceral. For now, that’s all I want to share publicly. Most of our memories are just that, ours. And I’ll treasure every single one of them, Bentley. Even the times you were naughty because like Daddy always says, you can get away with anything with Mommy (of course you could!).

You were never, ever, just a dog; you were always family. I’m ever so grateful God chose you for me and me for you. And now, He’s the only One holding me together. I love you bigger than the whole sky and I love you the best—the biggest and the best and more than all the rest. Forever.