Life has never been particularly interested in following my itinerary. Which seems like some sort of cruel joke, because I’m the best planner, the most detailed, and the most organized person you’ve ever met. But no matter how much I plan or how prepared I am, there’s always a detour somewhere along the road. It’s a guarantee, reality never meets expectation.

Which is why I should have seen it coming. I should have known life would throw a wrench into my plans. I should have known that when I booked my sixth trip to Door County it wasn’t going to be like how I envisioned. It wasn’t going to be anything like I’d planned.

It was supposed to be Rocco’s big adventure. It was supposed to be the first proper road trip my dog and I had experienced together. When you had a dog who was always ready to walk a new path, who loved a car ride more than anything, and who had the personality to charm everyone he ever met, it seemed inevitable to take him to the place that had become so meaningful to me.

I wanted to see him run down the woodland trails and dip his paws into the shimmering waters. I wanted to sit with him on the patio of the Old Post Office and feed him little bites of pizza from Wild Tomato. I wanted to watch his ears flap in the wind – while his head was out the window – as we took the winding road up to the secluded park at Death’s Door, my favorite spot on the peninsula. We were going to do it all and more.

Then in April, two months before the trip, I lost him in the way no one hopes to lose someone they love: suddenly and unexpectedly. One afternoon divided life into before and after, leaving behind a silence that settled into every corner of our home and left me without the friend who never needed words to tell me I was loved.

In the weeks after, grief repeatedly stabbed me with its sharp, jagged edges. Every day, every hour, every minute I was riding an endless rollercoaster. Then depression invited itself along for the ride, and before I knew it, I felt like I was somewhere beneath the waves—just barely keeping track of which way was up. There were moments when grief became so overwhelming, I wanted to scream from the top of my lungs. I miss you! I need you! Why aren’t you here? Why are you gone?

Yet somehow, someway, I kept moving forward, just like I always had before; taking it day by day and one emotional breakdown at a time. When June came, I packed the car and took the trip up to Door anyway, carrying Rocco’s absence with me every mile north.

And despite how much life had changed, Door stayed the same. It was just like how I remembered it. Except, everywhere I looked, I found myself imagining where he would have stopped to sniff, how he would have insisted on barking at every other dog he saw, and how much he would have hated the small cottage I picked to stay at. Instead of being the memorable break I hoped it’d be, it became a getaway overshadowed by loss, heartbreak, and what-ifs.

As of now, it’s only been a little over three months, but it feels like three years since he’s been gone. And as I countdown the days to my next vacation, I can’t help but wonder if it will be like that Adam Sandler skit on SNL. Have I healed enough to enjoy the journey? Has the ache settled? Are the broken pieces starting to mend? Time has a brutal way of dulling the pain, and while I won’t ever forget him, his shadow is becoming harder to recall and the scars are beginning to fade. Eventually, I’ll be ready to move on. It might not be tomorrow, but it’ll come one day.

And while I never wanted to burden you with this, it’s a story I needed to tell. Not because I wanted to or because I had the strength for it, but because my heart needed to give the overwhelming love I had for Rocco a place to live beyond me. Maybe by putting all of this on the page, I can let the miles that lie ahead carry some of the sorrow, while I carry with me the love, memories, and pieces of him that time can never take away.