Petunia and I met in 2021: she was three weeks old and I was 28 years old. I had never had a rabbit. I hadn’t even considered it; I had always been a dog person.
But the pandemic had changed many things and, while my years-long relationship seemed to be moving forward by inertia, I began to feel that something was missing. A dog was not a viable option at that time, so one day a white female rabbit arrived as a gift, whom I named Petunia.
At that time, I couldn’t imagine the place she would occupy in my life.
I also hadn’t thought about what to expect from a rabbit. With a dog, the bond and reciprocity usually become evident very quickly. With Petunia, on the other hand, I didn’t know what to expect. And to my surprise, it was incredible.
She came to live with me on November 1st. She was a white, bouncy, and slippery ball. The first few days I hardly saw her: she spent most of the time hiding, as far away from people as possible. But, as life began to resemble a little more like before and I gradually returned to work, she also lost her fear. She grew, started roaming the apartment freely, and no longer just appeared when she heard the refrigerator open, but responded to my call, waited for me every time I came home, and we even shared entire afternoons in the garden, enjoying the wind together.
Without realizing it, she became the reason I was happy to come back home and, in a way that I still find hard to explain, a constant companion who filled a void my heart didn’t know it had. That’s how I understood that Petunia had come to accompany me in my first great mourning: accepting that the person I thought was my life partner was, in reality, just my housemate. Maybe that’s why she appeared at that moment. Because, even though I still didn’t want to admit it, that was no longer my place.
After that many-year relationship ended, I returned to my parents’ house and, of course, with Petunia. I did it with the conviction to rediscover who I was outside of that loving bond that had just dissolved. Amid doubts, uncertainty, and insecurities, Petunia showed me that support has no shape or right timing and that, in no case, is it an exclusive task of humans.
A little more than a year after that forced reconstruction, I met “G,” with whom we started dating. It was, again, something I didn’t know I needed. We shared interests, tastes, and a very similar way of looking at life. We both came from long relationships, from plans that didn’t work out, and from therapeutic processes that had changed us, so deciding to live together was the logical step after a few months of dating.
We found a house to live in for us, his dog Ringo, and of course, Petunia. It took several months of adjustment until finally our pack began to live in harmony. Shortly after, Milka, our new little dog, joined us, and with that, our family felt complete. Petunia was always there, and in her own way, she sought spaces to share with us: she climbed onto the back of the couch to watch TV, stole loquats from the floor before the dogs could notice and, behind our backs, she made sure to leave a broken shoelace or some teeth marks on our wooden furniture.
After a while, we decided to move houses with the intention of having children in the medium term. It was, without a doubt, a huge step: dreaming big again and believing again in that concept of unconditional and lasting love. That’s how, little by little, conversations and plans began to become reality, and the hope of being a big pack started to grow.
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Personally, I feel deeply fortunate to be able to live such a healthy and constructive love, with a partner who decides daily not only to choose me but also to honor and value me for who I am. Sharing life with someone who sees you with flaws and virtues, who supports you when necessary, and who also pushes you to grow, is invaluable. It’s a luck few have, and I was fortunate to find it at 31 years old. Without a doubt, that was the beginning of my prime: more empathetic, more lucid, and with more energy than ever, full of new plans and goals to achieve.
And so convinced and strong I want to believe Petunia also saw me when, without warning, she decided to leave in the early hours of August 16, 2025.
It was a bucket of cold water I didn’t see coming. I can’t find another way to describe what it meant to wake up that holiday Friday and realize that my furry white companion would no longer be there.
Although it sounds silly, I never imagined what my life would be like without Petunia. Even today, as I write this, my eyes fill with tears remembering her. Only after losing her did I understand how wise she had been: she silently accompanied me in the worst moments. The few smiles from that time I also owe to her.
But she also saw me reach this state of fulfillment that for so long seemed impossible. She accompanied me throughout the process of personal reconstruction and blossoming, and even in the new paths I decided to take. I want to believe she always knew her time would be brief and that her role was clear: to remind me who I am.
Today, almost a year after her departure, I believe I am still living the second mourning: learning to live without her. It comforts me to think that a part of Petunia remains with me. Not only in the teeth marks she left on the wooden furniture but also in the way I learned to face losses: from another perspective, grateful and trusting that at the end of the day love can do everything, keeps us alive, moves us, and saves us.
To my stealthy, and now omnipresent, companion: I think of you and miss you every day. And, somehow, I still feel that you are around here.
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