Still loved. Still remembered.

Every year around this time, I put a flag on my mailbox for a week.

It has two dragonflies on it.

To most people, it probably just looks like a nice little splash of color. But to me, it’s a quiet signal to the universe: I remember them like it was yesterday. I remember Hannah and Duncan. Two loyal hearts. Two steady presences. Two souls who made a house feel like a home.

This morning I lit a candle and placed it beneath Duncan’s painting. The flame is small, but it changes the whole room. It’s a simple ritual, and I like it that way. No speeches. No drama. Just a light that says, you still matter here.

Duncan had his own style. When I was getting his food ready, he’d do little donuts like a tiny four-legged tornado. And if Hannah was barking at him, he’d ignore her like he was too cool for school. The last six months of his life, he even “answered” my yes and no questions with his tongue. Smart dog. Sweet dog. My daily companion.

Hannah was loyal too, in her own way, and she’s part of this week for me, always. The dragonflies are my reminder that love doesn’t disappear. It changes shape. It becomes memory, habit, art, and the small things we do on purpose.

So here’s my plan for this week:

I’ll keep the dragonflies out front.

I’ll keep the candle lit.

I’ll keep living in a way that would make two loyal beings proud.

And I’ll keep making things, because that’s how I hold on to what matters. Not perfectly. Not loudly. Just honestly.

If you’re reading this and you’ve loved an animal like family, you already understand. They don’t ask for much. They just show up. And in return, they give us a kind of loyalty that’s rare in this world.

This post is for Hannah and Duncan.

Still loved. Still remembered. Still with me.

Gone, but never forgotten