I’ve said it before—probably more than once.
You never know when the last time is the last time.
But this weekend, I actually felt it.
Not in some dramatic, life-altering way in the moment…
but in the quiet realization afterward, when everything had already passed.
My dog, Otis, is gone.
And I keep catching myself replaying things—not the big moments, but the small ones. Wondering if he knew how much I loved him. Wondering if I could have been more present. More available. Less distracted by everything I’ve been carrying and building and trying to hold together.
It’s a strange feeling…
to love something so much and still feel like you could have done better.
But I think that’s what grief does.
It doesn’t just make you miss them.
It makes you review yourself.
At the same time, life keeps showing me these little markers.
A favorite breakfast at Tuckers that quietly became the last time I had it… and I didn’t even know.
A normal day that didn’t feel like anything special… until suddenly it was something I can’t go back to.
And it makes everything feel a little more fragile.
A little more temporary.
But also… a little more important.
This weekend also gave me something unexpected.
After we said our goodbyes to Otis, we all sat in the kitchen— my kids, my ex, my boyfriend and myself.
And it was calm.
No tension.
No animousity.
Just five people sitting in something hard, together.
It felt… good.
In a way I didn’t think we would ever experience as a group.
And it made me realize something else:
Not everything meaningful comes from perfect planning or perfect presence .
Sometimes it comes from just being there when it matters.
I’ve been really focused lately—on building, on changing my life, on becoming something new.
And I still want that. I need that.
But I’m also realizing I don’t want to get so focused on where I’m going that I forget to be where I am.
Because the truth is…
We don’t get a heads-up.
There’s no notification that says, “Hey, this is the last time—pay attention.”
Life just keeps moving.
Moments just keep happening.
Until one day, they’re memories.
So maybe it’s not about trying to make every moment meaningful.
Maybe it’s just about being present enough… often enough…
so that when you look back, you can say:
I was there for a lot of it.
And maybe that’s enough.
I hope it is. ❤️
Stay Twisted…and present,
-Jen