I am absolutely blown away.

My inability to get these done in advance is proving to be a blessing. And a curse. But mostly a blessing.

My goals in starting 40 to 40 were to get better at creating content, form a habit of it, and grow some sort of audience.

My hope was that maybe I could build a YouTube channel to 100 subscribers. In my wildest fantasies I would hit 1,000. The other platforms were an afterthought as I had never had luck on any of them.

My wires must have been crossed because twice in the past week I’ve gone viral on TikTok in the best way possible. And just this morning I crossed the 1,000 follower mark.

Yesterday’s video as of this moment has 11,000 views and 239 comments from people expressing their sympathy and sharing their stories of losing their best friends (both 2-legged and 4-).

To say I’m at a loss of words would be a gross oversimplification. I am floored. I can’t fathom what’s happening. And I also couldn’t be happier.

Grief feels so isolating. Like when you’re in it, your world freezes. You can look out, see everyone else living their lives, and yet you’re stuck reliving the most painful moment of your life.

Watching Leo’s final moments, I told myself never again. Never again would I willingly put myself through this pain.

I couldn’t fathom a world in which I could replace Leo’s love, or fill the void he left when we said goodbye.

But over time I began wondering, what’s the alternative? If I’m committing myself to never loving again, I’d be committing to a life without a companion by my side.

That truth applies to both humans and animals. And when it comes to the latter, it’s important to remember: without you stepping in to rescue one another, they may spend their lives confined to a cage, waiting for someone who never comes.

It was about six months after Leo’s passing that the desire began to creep back in.

The house felt too quiet, too empty. So we began looking, seeing what animals were out there.

Before adopting Leo, his name was Kevin. I chose to call him Leo because it felt like he was a part of me from the moment I brought him home. A Leo myself, it seemed like the perfect name.

So when we came across a little foster named Kevin, something clicked. We knew he was the one.

In the six months since bringing Kevin home, I’ve learned that love is never replaced. It’s never overwritten. It’s a continuation.

Leo raised my capacity to love further than I could have imagined. He gave Kevin the shoulders of a giant to stand on, and the similarities of their behaviors are astounding.

Almost as if Leo is whispering into Kevin’s ear to say, “Next time you see them cry, look at them like you understand. Because you will. And then with love and tenderness, sit down right on their laps, and don’t move until the tears dry up.”

The hurt may never fully fade. But love remains—to comfort you, to stay with you, and to remind you: I am going to be okay.