Porch Pups: Grief, Love, and Carrying On

I call them my porch pups—two Labradors who wait for me every day and who, without ever intending to, helped teach me how to carry grief, remember love, and keep walking forward. When I pull into the driveway, they are already there, watching from the porch. The moment they see me, they race through the house with joyful determination. Their greeting is loud, messy, and full of life.

But the story of my porch pups did not begin with them.

It began years earlier with my husband and a Labrador named Harley Quinn. Harley was a sweet dog who made it very clear that my husband was the alpha male and unquestionably her favorite person. I often joked that I was her “spare human.” I was the one who walked her and fed her, but her loyalty belonged to him. I didn’t mind. I loved them both, and they both loved me.

Then illness entered our home, and everything changed.

My husband battled cancer for two long years. During that same time, Harley developed a tumor of her own. When my husband passed away, Harley followed only a couple of weeks later. Losing them both so close together left a silence in my home that felt almost unbearable.

Through those difficult years, my father often reminded me of the words of Jesus in John 11:25–26:
“I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live. And whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die.”

Those words became an anchor during nights filled with fear and uncertainty, and they continued to steady me after my husband passed away. They reminded me that even in the face of death, faith gives us hope.

Faith does not remove grief; instead, it gives grief direction. It allows us to mourn deeply while still believing that love is not wasted, that life continues beyond death, and that separation is not forever.

Love fills a home in ways we rarely notice while it is happening. It lives in everyday routines, shared laughter, quiet conversations, and the simple comfort of knowing someone is there beside you. When that love is suddenly separated by death, the space it once filled becomes painfully clear.

But that emptiness is not the end of the story.

For a long time, I told myself I would never get another dog. The grief was simply too heavy.

But life has a way of continuing, sometimes gently pushing us forward even when we feel as though we want to stand still.

That is how Selah and Boaz eventually came to be waiting for me on the porch each day—two lively Labradors who gradually softened the silence of my home with their energy, their noise, and their faithful companionship. They did not replace the love that came before them. Nothing could. Instead, they became part of how I learned to carry that love forward.

Life with them is noisy, messy, and full of movement. And somehow, in the middle of that everyday chaos, they helped me carry on.

One of the fears that often comes with grief is the quiet fear of forgetting. Sometimes it can feel as though continuing with life means leaving the person we loved behind. I feared losing the memory of my husband—the sound of his voice, the way he carried himself, and the countless small moments that made up our life together.

But memories do not disappear simply because life grows around them. Instead, they settle deeper into who we are. The years we shared shaped the person I became. His influence is woven into my faith, my values, and the way I see the world.

Continuing does not mean leaving him behind.

It means carrying him forward.

My porch pups did not replace my husband or Harley Quinn. Instead, they helped fill the quiet spaces of my home with life again. They gave me routines to keep, laughter to rediscover, and companionship during moments when grief still felt heavy.

So now I live my days with two energetic Labradors at my side, remembering the past with gratitude while continuing on with hope. Grief is still real, and the absence is still real, but it exists alongside the promise that one day the separation will end.

Grief itself has become a reminder of love that endures.

One day, I believe, I will be reunited with my husband—and perhaps even with Harley Quinn.

Until then, I keep walking forward, guided by faith, surrounded by two loyal dogs, and trusting that the love which created grief will one day be fulfilled again when we are reunited in heaven.