What the morning gave me: A quiet ritual with my dog

This morning, I didn’t start with a plan.

No to-do list. No back-to-back calls. No productivity hacks.

Just Luz — my three-year-old whirlwind with soft eyes and a curious nose — and a quiet calling to start our day differently.

So we went to the market.
Luz sniffed everything (and got a treat, obviously).

We walked slowly through the Middelheim Park, an open-air museum filled with sculptures, history, and trees that have seen more summers than I have heartbreaks.

And then, we found a bench.
She curled up. I sipped my coffee. The croissant flaked onto my lap. And the world… paused.

In that moment, nothing hurt. Nothing needed fixing.

Grief was still there — it always is — but it softened.
Because grief and joy can co-exist.
Because doing nothing can be a way of doing everything you need.

Luz teaches me this over and over:
You don’t always need words to heal.
Sometimes you just need paws beside you and a little sun on your face.

To anyone walking through grief, especially after losing a beloved animal —
please allow yourself mornings like this.

Not to forget, but to remember how deeply love lives in the quietest moments.

— Maryse
Founder of Regenboogpootjes
Where love travels beyond the visible. Where it keeps whispering, even when things go quiet.