For Sophie, Always

The heart of a family is not still—
it stretches, it grows,
like soft dawn spilling across new horizons,
like roots reaching deeper when the rains come.
And now, love is growing again.
The quiet promise of new footsteps,
a fresh story written between the lines of our lives.

But this—this truth—remains:
You were our first heartbeat at home.
Our wild thing with eyes like winter’s edge,
soft fur catching the light of late afternoon walks.
You, who taught us what devotion feels like—
a gaze that says, I choose you,
every day, without question.

We remember the ways we learned to be a family:
your breath steady at our feet,
the rhythm of paws tapping into our daily lives,
laughter as you ran free beneath wide skies.
The way you stayed close—
when days were hard,
when nights were quiet,
when dreams were still only ours.

And now, little paws will not be the only sound.
Small hands will reach for the world you know,
curious voices will rise in rooms once hushed.
A new heartbeat joins the rhythm of our home,
and we will all learn again—
how love makes room,
how it blooms without borders.

But, sweet Sophie, never mistake this change.
You are woven into the fabric of us,
as much a part of our story
as laughter and light.
Your place is not replaced.
Your love is not outgrown.

There will be new walks—slower, together.
New hands to learn the softness of your fur,
new laughter chasing after your joy.
You are not before.
You are not "once was."
You are now, and you are always.

This family is growing, yes—
but our hearts do not divide;
they multiply.
And your place?
It’s right here,
where it has always been:
beside us, part of us,
beloved.

Always.