My 14-year-old beagle, Cody, died suddenly in my arms on a cold metal table in the back office of a veterinary clinic. I had driven two hours to Columbia, SC, where he was visiting my son in college. A frantic call from my son a few days prior had signaled the urgent trip, and upon arrival, Cody looked drastically different from the vibrant pet I had seen six weeks prior at Christmas.

I had naively thought I was prepared for his passing, especially since he was nearing 15 and had shown no signs of slowing down at our last meeting. The vet gave me a few final moments alone with him, his heart slowing to thirty-four beats per minute. Overwhelmed, I found myself sobbing, gently rubbing his velvety ears and soft, scruffy neck, reminiscing about our lives together.

In those moments, a particular memory surfaced: the day we brought Cody home. My son, merely eight years old at the time, was filled with a mix of disbelief and joy, repeatedly asking, "Is he really ours?" That day, our family had expanded with an unspoken promise of shared adventures and countless memories. Cody's eager eyes and wagging tail had sealed an unbreakable bond, one that had enriched our lives beyond measure.

As Cody's journey with us came to an end, it wasn't just his life that flashed before my eyes, but the entirety of our shared experiences. This dog, the epitome of a happy, hungry, and pack-loving beagle, had been more than a pet; he was a central part of our family's tapestry.

Leaving the clinic without him, I was engulfed by a profound sadness, one that extended beyond the immediate loss. It was a reflection on the countless times I had hurried out the door, too preoccupied to cherish the moments with Cody, who was always eager for my attention. It dawned on me that the depth of my sorrow was tied to these missed opportunities for connection, moments when love was available, but I chose haste over heart.

This realization brought me to a broader contemplation about love and vulnerability. In the face of emotional pain, it's tempting to close off our hearts, to vow never to expose ourselves to such depths of sorrow again. Yet, in doing so, we deny ourselves the essence of living fully. Cody's passing reminded me that the pain of loss is inextricably linked to the capacity to love and be loved.

So, on this Valentine's Day, I extend a gentle reminder to embrace love in all its forms. Tell those important to you that they are loved, not just today but every day. And for those who have built walls around their hearts, consider this an invitation to dismantle them, piece by piece. Love, in its purest form, is worth the risk of heartache.

As I reflect on my time with Cody, I am reminded that while the pain of loss is inevitable, the joy of love is irreplaceable. May we all have the courage to keep our hearts open, to love and be loved, without reservation. My love goes out to each and every one of you, wherever you may be today.