The First Morning Without Her

Last night I made it through the unthinkable—my first night without Bella. Today, I returned to a home that echoes in her absence. No meows for “tree-treats.” No soft paws at the bedroom door. No royal commands from the kitchen while I unpack my life.

And yet, I feel her everywhere.

I still closed my bedroom door last night—not because I needed to, but because I always did. It was our tradition, our cuddle cocoon. I didn’t want to break that sacred rhythm, even if she’s no longer physically here to curl up beside me.

When I got home from the studio today, the silence screamed. The absence was loud. But so was her memory.

I cried in my office at the studio after my first Pilates class. And then I wiped my tears, unlocked the door, and showed up for the next one. That’s who I am—and that’s who she helped me become. Bella taught me to feel and to continue. To rest and to rise.

This space is for her. And it’s for you—if you’ve loved and lost, if you’ve felt the sacred weight of grief, or if you simply need a place to say, “I miss them.”

I’m building something in her honor. And this is just the beginning.