A Request for Presence

Over the years, I’ve noticed a quiet request that appears again and again when a sibling animal soul has transitioned. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed—weeks, months, or even after new routines have begun—there is often a sacred honoring that happens on my first day back with the remaining animal family.

These moments feel like a pause.
A soft stilling.
A subtle opening into remembrance.

I often sense the sibling in spirit nearby—visiting, watching, connecting from that other dimension with a familiar, loving presence.

Today was one of those days—my first visit since their sibling crossed the Rainbow Bridge nearly three months ago. It held the same emotional texture humans experience during “the year of firsts,” only quieter, wordless, and expressed through energy rather than language.

Animals often recognize the person they last saw with the sibling who has passed. Even if the family doesn’t consciously notice it, the energy shifts. Behaviors soften. Play pauses. Silence becomes meaningful.

This afternoon, when I gently asked one of the dogs what he wanted to do, he walked over to the Christmas tree, nudged a gift bag, and knocked one over with unmistakable intention. I smiled and said,

“Ah… you want presence.”

He quietly walked away, settled himself, and rested.
So that’s what was offered—before dinner… and after.
Simply presence.

Just as we sometimes need someone to sit beside us without words, without fixing, without expectation—our animal companions also need that spacious love.

No agenda.
No distraction.
Just being together.

Presence is its own language.
And today, it was the only one needed.