… still here…
The shape of absence definitely changed over the year.
At the start, it was an Ella-shaped hole. But it hasn’t gotten smaller. In a way, it’s gotten bigger. It’s gotten bigger in a way that encompasses us. We now live in Ella’s world.
I used to say that the tragedy is that Ella will be one chapter in our story, but to her, we were her entire story. I’ve realised that’s not true. We now live inside it. Or at least I live inside of Ella’s world in some way.
What I’ve learned about grief is that it can be debilitating, missing the absence. But it can also come back to you in those little moments where you’re doing something familiar and you feel an intense presence. Sometimes it’s almost somatic—feeling my hands in Ella’s double coat, her kind kohl-lined eyes looking at you, her basmati rice smelling feet, her cool nose nuzzling your ear. They don’t go away. They’re part of our story now.
A month after she passed, I told Shobitha I didn’t want to get over it. A year later, I understand that differently. It’s not about not getting over it. It’s making it a part of the everyday. There’s some version of me now that lives in Ella’s world. It’s different, feeling presence even when it’s not physical.
What this year has also done is offer me time to think of Ella at her best. Not just the last week. And that’s been lovely.
When I go for a run in Cubbon Park, I remember the Ella who used to run through the park without a leash and with terrible recall—so much so that I had to walk with cheese in my pockets in the vain hope that she’d come back. Never really worked. She’d roll in muddy streams and leave home white and come back brick red. The playful, growling energy that she had. The dog who loved hard and lived hard and went hard with everything.
The house still holds her. Her favourite corner will always be her favourite corner. Her collar is right there on our bookshelf. We still have her ashes. For a while I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
Maybe now it’s time.
The thing that really surprised us, but also made us happy, is Sparky.
He came into our lives six months before Ella did. For those six months, he was the only dog. When Ella came in, she had to fight for her space, and she did. For most of the thirteen years they spent together, they were genuinely playful, accommodating.
The first few days after Ella passed, maybe even the week after, Sparky was a little withdrawn. But he’s now come out of that shell as a new dog—perhaps the dog he always was. He’s calmer, friendlier with other dogs. He takes long walks to say hello to particular dogs. Maybe he’s just enjoying being a singular feature of our lives, the extra cuddles and the extra treats and the extra time. It’s beautiful to watch.
I will say that there’s nothing that’s had us think we didn’t make the right call, at almost the right time. With the benefit of hindsight, it was perhaps half a day too late. But just that.
Ella taught us so much, and continues to. ❤️
Originally published on Substack on 7 February 2026. Read on Substack →
Gautam John 
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