Coco - 2025

What a year. So much to be grateful for, so many lessons learned, and one loss that has left my heart aching. 

As I look back and reflect on everything I lived through in 2025, the first half of the year felt “normal.” I traveled to Toronto in the middle of winter with my friend Laura (the one from Ireland), and I enjoyed it like a kid. I took the leap and registered my guest room on Airbnb; I met incredibly interesting people and even made a friend. I signed up as a volunteer at TMC (Tucson Medical Center), which led me to enroll at Pima Community College to pursue a certification as a Health and Wellness Coach. I traveled to San Diego and then to San Luis Obispo for an RV adventure centered around a cycling ride. I even completed the process to become a U.S. citizen. 

All of it felt “normal” for my lifestyle: adventures, slightly crazy and impulsive decisions—but normal nonetheless. 

If you’ve read my previous blog posts, you may remember that in June I was asked at work to support a department different from my own, with tasks I had to learn and execute immediately. From that moment on, things stopped feeling “normal.” Although the agreement was that I would support that department 80–90% of the time and still work on my own responsibilities the rest of the time, that didn’t really happen. At least from my perspective—and from my mental and physical exhaustion—I was working 100% in one role and at least 50% in the other. 

On top of that, I had my classes and coursework for my certification, and I was starting to notice signs that Coco, my dog, was declining much faster than I expected. I felt like my life was no longer my own. 

Even with all that stress and “abnormality,” I had my citizenship ceremony in August and was able to spend a weekend in Mt. Lemmon with the intention of reflecting, giving thanks, and processing all the life changes I was experiencing. 

Still, I felt trapped. Tied down. Stuck, and I don’t really know why. My soul was craving freedom, and honestly, I needed at least a small sense of control. I wanted to feel like I owned my time, my life. 

I signed up for a couple of 5K races (TMC in September and Garmin in November). I traveled to San Diego in October for a cycling ride to celebrate the new name and image of my cycling friends group. And yet, I still felt the need to accomplish something, anything. I even got certified as a Zumba instructor… even though I don’t actually like Zumba! 

I decided to grab the bull by the horns—however that saying goes.  

Looking back at my calendar, it was around September when I decided to take the wheel of my life and navigate it on my own terms. I acknowledged that neither the company nor my managers were responsible for my physical, mental, or emotional health. So, as you may have read in previous posts, I started being more consistent with physical exercise. I made better use of my lunch hour—without guilt—taking a few extra minutes to shower after strength or cardio workouts. I also began meditating for at least five or ten minutes before starting my workday. 

As part of that decision to take responsibility for improving my life overall, I chose to look for ways to connect with other humans, in person. Don’t get me wrong: I love my independence, I love working from home, and I love my solitude and the serenity of my house. But I recognized that I hadn’t made a real effort to build a social circle—or even a group of acquaintances—in Tucson. 

I explored a Barre studio and a Yoga studio. I was planning to try Pilates, but Yoga hooked me. I enjoyed that first Hot Yoga class so much that I bought a class package I now enjoy every week. The studio owner knows my name, the instructors are amazing, and yes—I’m part of that community. And it feels really, really good. 

Then December came. 

Coco’s condition kept worsening. I took him to the vet, and my suspicions were confirmed: canine dementia and the early stages of kidney failure. It was heartbreaking to watch him wander around the house, confused and lost. He would wake me up in the middle of the night because he was stuck under the bed and didn’t know how to get out. I could see fear in his little eyes—he didn’t understand what was happening, and sometimes he wouldn’t even let me touch him. 

Trips to the groomer became torturous for him. Being part French Poodle, I couldn’t stop taking him to get his hair cut every five or six weeks, but each visit triggered worse anxiety attacks. 

I made the decision to let him rest. 

I couldn’t do it alone. I went to Mexico to be with my family. On December 28, 2025, Coco became a little angel in heaven. 

I know I did the right thing. I know he left this world with dignity and surrounded by love. I know he lived a long, happy life. Coco was part of my family for 15 years, and for the last four, he was my only family in San Diego and Tucson. 

Even so, my heart still hurts so deeply that I don’t know how long it will take before I stop crying every time I think about him or talk about him. But I honor him, and I am grateful for everything he taught me. 

Coco taught me to see life with curiosity and without fear. He taught me to get excited like a little kid about the things I love. To enjoy every moment, to run, jump, and love as if it were the last time. Even if you can’t see well anymore, even if you can’t jump high, even if you can’t run like before—we only live once, and we must live fully. That was Coco. 

The year 2025 was different—intense, heavy, difficult—but its lessons remain to help me face whatever comes in 2026. I spoke with my managers and shared how those six months affected my physical and mental health. They appreciated my feedback, and we agreed that if something like that happens again, we’ll handle it differently. 

I took a break from school this semester and prioritized my physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health. I’m still processing the grief of losing Coco, and I’m giving myself the time I need to heal—without rushing and without guilt. 

To honor Coco, I’m practicing what he taught me. I invite you to follow his example too. Let’s be happy, grateful, curious, and brave—even if we can’t see, run, or jump like we used to. Get excited like a little kid about the things you love. Be kind. Love, hug, kiss, and cherish as if it were the last time. 

Let’s be like Coco, my furry boy—with an unknown past, but a happy and full life, filled with love and joy. 

My deepest thanks to my sister for being with me and for crying with me. I love you!

My deepest thanks to my brother for composing this song especially for Coco: Little Stranger

Versión en español