The Last Time I Saw Him Was on a Screen— I Miss You Already

It’s crazy how fast life goes by. We forget to slow down and actually see what’s going on around us. We’re so busy—working, chasing goals, scrolling mindlessly through life—that sometimes we miss the moments that matter most until they’re already gone.

Tonight, something happened that shouldn’t have. One of my family’s dogs, Bane, had to be put down. He and his son got into a fight, and the vet said his injuries were just too bad to come back from. I wasn’t there. I didn’t get to say goodbye.

And the worst part? Bane was too young to have to go like that. He still had time left. He still had zoomies in him, tail wags, head tilts, and moments of joy to give. It wasn’t supposed to end like this—not for him, not yet.

It’s the second time this has happened to me. The first was when Murk died—I was in Florida with my ex at the time and didn’t make it back in time. And now Bane. This time, I was home. I was in the same state. But I still didn’t get to see him before he was gone.

Grief is weird. I found myself immediately running through every stage of it. Repeatedly asking my mom if there was anything that could be done, insisting it couldn’t be that bad, trying to find a way to fix it. I was angry at myself—for not seeing him more over the last five years, for not giving him more of my time. I tried bargaining: I’d pay whatever it took to make him comfortable, I told my mom he could come live with Lena and me, that we’d figure it out.

For at least an hour, I kept calling, kept trying to find a different outcome—any outcome where I didn’t have to lose him. But the answer was always the same. There wasn’t anything we could do. It was time.

Before they put him down, I got to see him one last time on FaceTime. It wasn’t enough—but it was something. I just kept telling him over and over how good of a boy he was. Because he was. He was such a good boy. And more than anything, I wanted him to feel safe. I didn’t want him to be scared. I wanted my voice to be the last thing he heard so he knew he wasn’t alone—that he was loved, and that he was a part of something bigger than just that moment.

Now I’m here, crying uncontrollably, feeling like it’s all my fault—because I could have seen him more. I should have.

Spending time with the ones you love doesn’t cost a thing. And yet, we spend so much of our time on everything else—on work, on worry, on distractions that mean absolutely nothing in the long run. We assume there will always be more time. But there isn’t. And sometimes, you don’t get a second chance.

I would give anything right now just to have one more moment with him. One more tail wag. One more look. One more time to scratch behind his ears and tell him he’s a good boy—not through a screen, but in real life.

Honestly? I’d even give anything for him to walk up to me while I’m getting ready and lift his leg and pee on me again.

Because Bane wasn’t just a dog. He was family. And the truth is, dogs don’t live long enough. But they love hard. They give us everything, every single day, without expecting much in return.

So please—if you’ve been meaning to go see your family, your friends, your grandparents, your siblings, or the pet that waits for you at your parents’ house—go. Don’t keep putting it off. Don’t let distance, time, or excuses get in the way. Hug them. Show up. Spend the time.

Nothing in this world is more important than the people—and animals—you love. Make the time for them now, before it’s too late.

And if you’re lucky enough to have a dog curled up next to you right now, give them a treat. Let them on the couch. Take the extra walk. Tell them they’re the best dog in the world—because to them, you already are.

Rest easy, Bane. You were such a good boy. You were too young, and you deserved more time.

And I’ll carry that love with me always.

For Bane and Murk — two good boys who were deeply loved and will never be forgotten.

And a reminder to everyone reading: don’t wait. Spend time with those you love—while you still can.