Hi, I’m Remi. This is my journey as a support dog, where I’ve found true friendship with Izzy, Gus, Trigger, my brother Colt, and many others along the way. My story is a heartwarming series about loyalty, love, and the bonds of family, told through a dog’s eyes to remind us all that life’s greatest adventures begin with an open heart.
Coming home after spending what felt like forever at Mama’s house should have felt comforting, but it didn’t…
The house looked exactly the way we had left it, yet everything inside felt different because we weren’t the same family that had walked out the front door weeks before. Pops wasn’t waiting for us anymore, and somehow that changed everything.
Dad had quietly been keeping life together while Mom spent most of her time helping Mama. Every morning he went to work, came home, took care of the yard, fixed whatever needed fixing around the house, and made sure everything was ready for us when we finally came home. He never complained. He simply kept moving because that’s what he believed a husband and a father should do. When we pulled into the driveway, he smiled at Mom, wrapped his arms around her, and said, “Let’s just be home tonight.” I think we all needed to hear those words.
For the first time in weeks, it was just Mom, Dad, and me. There were no doctors coming through the front door, no phone calls that made everyone stop talking, no relatives filling the house, and no plans to make. We ordered dinner because nobody felt like cooking, lit a candle on the kitchen table, and spent the evening simply being together. Nobody talked very much, but somehow the silence didn’t feel empty. It felt like three people trying to remember what normal used to feel like.
The next morning Mom didn’t get out of bed early like she usually did. She slept later than I had ever seen her sleep, and Dad never once tried to wake her. Instead, he smiled quietly, clipped on my leash, and whispered, “She needs this, buddy.”
Those morning walks with Dad became something I looked forward to. We wandered through our favorite park where the ducks floated peacefully across the pond as if nothing in the world had changed. Squirrels raced up towering oak trees, birds sang from branches overhead, and the breeze carried the smell of fresh grass through the air. Dad would find the same bench overlooking the water every morning, and we’d sit there together for what seemed like hours. Sometimes he talked about Pops. Sometimes he didn’t say anything at all. I never felt the need to fill the silence because I had learned that silence isn’t always lonely. Sometimes it’s where healing begins.
When we came home, Mom would usually be awake, wrapped in a blanket with a cup of coffee resting in her hands. Some mornings she stared out the window without saying much. Other mornings she smiled when she saw us walk through the door, and I would climb onto the couch beside her, resting my head on her lap. I wasn’t trying to fix her sadness because I had finally learned that love isn’t about fixing broken hearts. Sometimes love is simply choosing to stay beside someone while they learn how to carry one.
As the days passed, Mom slowly began spending more time outside. Neighbors stopped by to check on her, bringing food, flowers, hugs, and stories about Pops that somehow made everyone smile before they cried again. One afternoon she picked up my leash and said, “Come on, Remi. Let’s go see everyone.”
I was excited because it had been weeks since we’d walked through the neighborhood, and there was someone I couldn’t wait to see.
Izzy.
As soon as we turned the corner, I looked toward her house, expecting to see her hopping across the yard on her three legs with that smile she always seemed to wear. She never let losing her leg slow her down. She ran with more joy than dogs who had all four paws, and every time she saw me it was as though we’d been apart for years instead of days.
I waited for her to appear.
She didn’t.
I looked toward the porch where she usually sat.
Nothing.
I looked toward the backyard gate.
Still nothing.
The yard felt strangely quiet.
Mom began talking with Izzy’s mom while I stood there waiting, convinced Lily would come bursting around the corner at any moment.
She never did.
Instead, I noticed something else.
Izzy’s mom was crying.
Not the kind of crying that comes from a bad day. It was the same kind of tears I had watched Mom cry after Pops left us. It was the same sadness I had seen in Mama’s eyes every single day.
Mom knelt beside me and gently rested her hand on my back.
“Remi,” she whispered softly, “Lily isn’t coming outside anymore.”
I looked up at her, confused.
“She became very sick.”
Suddenly my mind went back to our last evening together beneath the fading summer sky. I remembered Lily telling me she didn’t feel well. I remembered encouraging her to see a doctor, and I remembered her smiling before saying she would be okay.
I believed her.
We both did.
As Mom and Izzy’s mom continued talking, I heard words drift through the conversation.
Hospital.
Disease.
They tried everything.
She didn’t make it.
I slowly walked over to the place where Lily and I always met. Her scent still lingered faintly in the grass, almost as if she had just been there waiting for me. I lay down in the exact spot where we used to sit together and closed my eyes. For a moment I could almost hear her playful laugh and see her hopping toward me, smiling as she always did.
The last words she ever said to me echoed through my heart.
“See you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow never came.
What hurt almost as much as losing Pops was realizing how differently people leave this world. Pops had family gathered around him. Friends came from everywhere to honor his life. There were flowers covering every room, meals brought by neighbors, a church filled with people who loved him, Marines standing at attention, a folded American flag placed carefully into Mama’s hands, and a final salute honoring the man he had been.
Izzy had none of those things.
There was no funeral.
No flowers.
No military honors.
No long line of people sharing stories.
There was only an empty porch, a grieving woman, and a silence that somehow felt just as heavy.
As Mom and I walked home together, I realized that love isn’t measured by how many people gather to say goodbye.
Love is measured by the emptiness someone leaves behind.
That evening I curled up beside Mom on the couch while Dad quietly read across the room. Neither of them knew what I was thinking as I closed my eyes and remembered Pops sitting in his favorite chair, Izzy hopping across the yard, and all the moments that had become memories before I realized they were ending.
I had spent the whole summer feeling as though something wasn’t quite right.
Now I finally understood why.
Sometimes our hearts notice that life is changing long before our minds are ready to believe it.
🐾 Remi
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🐾 Remi’s Journey is a heartwarming mini-series following Remi, a support dog, through friendship, family, adventure, love, and life’s lessons. One memory, one adventure, one wagging tail at a time.
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About the Author
The Positive Pen by John Rinaldo is a weekly publication centered on soul work, reflection, and the quiet process of becoming. Through honest writing and lived experience, he explores what it means to grow, endure, and find your voice.
He also hosts the live podcast The Positive Pen: Stories, Soul Work & Substack, where writers, authors, and artists share their journeys through meaningful, real conversations. The show airs every Monday at 4 PM EST.
John is currently working on Ciao Bella: Forgotten in the Shadows, a documentary project telling the story of Italian families who, during World War II, risked everything to help Jewish families escape to safety across the Alps.
Author’s Note: I have dyslexia and use assistive technologies, including AI-assisted editing, to improve grammar and readability. Every story reflects my lived experiences, voice, and final approval.
© 2026 John V. Rinaldo. All rights reserved.
This work is protected under U.S. and international copyright law. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, displayed, or transmitted in any form without prior written permission. Official publications are released only through verified accounts directly controlled by John V. Rinaldo.
John, this chapter has brought back so many tears and heartfelt memories! Just reading about my little Izzy it’s overwhelming! It is a beautiful chapter! Never stop writing John. You are a great writer!
I'm sitting here, my heart full, my eyes wet. This is a beautiful post, John, written as you always write, with heart. My favorite sentence in the whole piece is, "Sometimes love is simply choosing to stay beside someone while they learn how to carry one." Love takes many forms. I'm learning to stay beside someone when most of who they were is no longer there, so I have a bit of understanding. Thank you for writing this. Take care.