Rainbow Bridge by Bella Velasco
How saying goodbye to our dog, Lily, changed my summer, my home, and my heart
Tip: Play this melody as you read to feel the story unfold
A short story by Bella Velasco
It was the last week of June. The sky was soft, and summer had just begun to stretch its arms.
I was home, and everything felt calm. I woke up to my alarm, but absolute silence from beyond my door.
The air was warm already, the kind of warmth that sticks to your skin even in the shade. I stretched, rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I rose up and changed into my morning clothes.
I fixed my hair and walked quietly to the kitchen. The floor was cool under my feet. I poured a bowl of cereal, and sat at the table while the sunlight crept across the counter.
The house was quiet, but not in a strange way, just peaceful. I remember thinking it was almost a perfect morning.
I didn’t know that everything was about to change. Then I walked over to the laundry room and saw her. That morning, Lily, our family dog, died.
She had been with me for as long as I could remember, a quiet, reassuring presence with gentle eyes that seemed to understand everything.
We had said our goodbyes before, we knew she was fading. Just the previous day she was in pain, and couldn’t seem to lift her legs off the ground again.
When I found her still and gone, the world seemed to stop. I didn’t cry right away. I just stood there, numb, like my heart was holding its breath.
The room suddenly felt too still, too loud in its silence. I ran and woke up my family, and told them that Lily had crossed over the rainbow bridge.
The rest of the summer moved in slow motion. Light still poured through the windows, but it didn’t feel as warm as before.
Her empty bowl, the silence where her paws once tapped across the floor, all of it felt like sad echoes.
Grief didn’t come sneaking in like I thought it would; instead, it settled quietly, like dust on everything Lily loved. Like her old bed and her sparkly collar.
It taught me how fast time moves, how strong love can hurt, and how easy it is to take a presence for granted.
I had never lost something that hurt that much before, and a piece of me went with her.
But in mourning, something else grew. I became closer to Romy, we all did, our other dog—Lily’s best friend.
As days went by, Romy waited for Lily by the door. She looked for her all over the house, but sadly, Lily was gone. We grieved together.
I stayed close to Romy the way Lily would’ve wanted. We were both missing her in different ways, but we found comfort in each other.
That summer was different, but it also helped me see that grief is love in a different form.
And sometimes, when the house goes quiet, you finally learn how to listen.