This past week, our family faced a heartbreak that words can barely capture.

Our beloved dog, Sadie, who had been a constant companion to our three boys as they grew into young men, was taken from us in a horrific accident. The pain of her loss was overwhelming, a jagged ache that seemed to pierce every corner of my heart.

As the mama of the house, I was consumed by grief and haunted by guilt replaying every moment, every “what if,” like a broken record that wouldn’t stop. In the midst of my hysteria, my first instinct was to call my husband. He’s always been my anchor, the calm in my storm.

With his steady voice, he simply said, “I’m coming home,”.

One by one, our three boys, young men now, arrived home.

Each took a turn holding me, their arms strong and reassuring, their words gentle: “Mum, these things happen. It’s not your fault.”

Their calmness was a balm to my unravelling heart. While I was lost in tears, they quietly went to work.

They found spades, chose a spot in the backyard, and crafted a simple cross for their beautiful dog.

They dug her grave, chatting softly among themselves, occasionally checking on their weeping mother.

When my husband arrived, he held me for what felt like forever, absorbing the weight of my sorrow. He knew how much I dread death, how it unravels me.

With quiet authority, he guided the boys on where and how to dig, ensuring Sadie was laid to rest with the dignity she deserved. My friend Charann arrived, and we cried together, reminiscing about Sadie’s gentle spirit and the joy she brought us.

We laughed through our tears, admitting that if it had been just us women, we’d still be crying, unable to find a spade or figure out how to carry her. It might’ve taken us ten hours to do what the men accomplished with such grace.

Even as I lingered, not ready to say goodbye, my boys stood patiently stoic, respectful, giving me the space to let go.

When I finally nodded, all four of my men my husband and our three sons gently carried Sadie to her final resting place.

They covered her grave, placed her cross, and hung her collar as a quiet tribute. That day, I saw the strength of our men in a new light. They grieved too, in their own way, but they held space for my pain. They carried the weight literally and figuratively when I couldn’t.

Later, two of my boys went to the beach to watch the sunset, reflecting on the 16 years Sadie had given us. They spoke of the lessons she taught them: loyalty, love, and laughter.

I realised then that the quiet strength of our men isn’t just in their actions but in their ability to stand firm, to honour both life and loss, and to carry us when we falter.

This is for Sadie, our faithful friend, and for the men in our lives who hold us together when the world feels broken.

Their strength complements ours without diminishing it.

We uniquely have our own strengths, and I am so grateful to be a wife and a mother to these incredible men.