Embracing Grief: A Journey Through Loss and Healing
What loss taught me about love, presence, and the slow work of healing!
Grief is a given. As long as we love, we will grieve. It is an inevitable part of being human—rooted in the truth that all living things must one day pass.
I woke up at 2 a.m., gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. The fan hummed softly above me, the night air cool against my skin. Still, I felt a rupture, like something had broken open inside me. An inexplicable sense of dread pulsed through my body. I sat on the edge of the bed for hours, unable to shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong.
Later that day, my sister called. Her voice trembled as she shared the news: our father had died of a massive heart attack around 3 a.m. He had no known health issues. The shock was immediate, profound, and disorienting. I was 22.
I left for home right away. It took nearly 24 hours to reach, but by then it was too late. Because of the heat, my family had been unable to preserve the body. I had missed the cremation, the rituals, the final goodbye.
For weeks, I moved through life in a haze of disbelief. I hadn’t seen him after he passed, and some part of me refused to accept he was gone. Every morning, I half-expected him to walk into the room, smiling, welcoming me home.
I took a month off work and stayed with my mother, who was suddenly alone. We sat together—sometimes talking, sometimes crying, sometimes simply silent. A quiet rhythm of shared loss began to form. But guilt clung to me: Why had I left Chandigarh? Why wasn’t I there when he needed me? And how could I have felt something was wrong, yet been powerless to do anything about it?
I swung between sadness, guilt, anger, and fear. Grief became a constant companion. Going back to work didn’t change that. My father and I were close. Losing him was like losing a part of myself. The tears came easily. So did the pain.
But in the quiet of those months, I also began to remember who he was: his selflessness, his gentle wisdom, his humor, his compassion. And slowly, my grief began to shift—pain gave way to gratitude. I could feel him living on inside me.
What Grief Teaches
It was years later, through the lens of mindfulness, that I came to understand grief more clearly—not just as something to survive, but as something profoundly alive. Something essential.
Grief is not linear. It’s not an event; it’s a process. It doesn't come with a set timeline or clear instructions. And it doesn’t need fixing. Emotions like grief, fear, and despair are as valid as joy, awe, and love. They are intelligent, living energies. Yet we often suppress them. We judge them. We try to move past them as quickly as possible, mistaking their depth for weakness.
But emotions aren’t problems to solve. They are messengers. And grief, when honored, connects us more deeply to life.
It teaches us we’re part of something larger. That love is both our greatest gift and greatest vulnerability. That despair, when allowed to speak, can become a gateway to meaning. When we give our grief room to breathe, we begin to understand: these emotions aren’t in the way of healing—they are the way.
Two Losses, Two Journeys
Looking back, I now see that I let myself grieve my father deeply. I didn’t push it away. I didn’t try to bypass it. I allowed myself to be broken open.
Well-meaning people urged me to “be strong” and “move on.” But something inside me resisted. I trusted my grief. I gave it space.
A decade later, when my mother died, my grief looked very different.
I was four months pregnant, living in Australia, when her cancer returned and began spreading rapidly. I flew back to India to be with her for a few weeks. When I left, we embraced for what felt like forever. We both knew the truth.
She died a few weeks before my son was born. I didn’t travel back. I didn’t go through the rituals. I was buying a home, preparing for birth, and trying to keep it together. But in doing so, I shut myself off emotionally. I created distance—mental, emotional, spiritual.
Years passed. And every time I spoke of my father, I felt warmth and joy. His memory had softened into something beautiful. But when I spoke of my mother, something felt missing. Like I was performing sadness instead of feeling it.
I hadn’t allowed myself to truly grieve.
I knew I needed closure. On my next trip to India, I performed rituals in her memory. I later visited her brothers and spent time with them, flipping through albums, sharing stories, rediscovering her presence in our shared history. I brought her photos back with me. And somewhere in that process, my relationship with her death began to shift. I let her back in—not just in memory, but in meaning.
If You’re Grieving (or Supporting Someone Who Is)
Here’s what I’ve come to believe:
There is no one right way to grieve.
Each loss carves a different path. Some losses are gentle departures; others are soul-shaking ruptures.
Some leave quietly; others leave you in pieces.
But no matter the shape it takes, grief deserves your full attention.
If you’re navigating loss, or supporting someone who is, here are a few things I’ve learned:
1. Check Your Emotional Tolerance
Before you support others, ask yourself how comfortable you are with raw emotion. If your instinct is to say “be strong” or “move on,” you may be projecting your discomfort. Emotional suppression doesn’t serve healing. Feelings like fear, sadness, and anger hold wisdom. When we numb them, we lose access to that intelligence.
2. Grief Is Not the Enemy
Grief isn’t darkness. It’s part of life. It’s part of love. And it has a purpose. What we label “negative emotions” are not bad—they are simply asking to be seen, heard, expressed. Grief deepens our capacity for compassion and connection.
3. Grief Is Impermanent
As all things pass, so does grief. But it unfolds in its own time. There’s no shortcut. There’s no fixed route. Be patient with its pace.
4. Grieve Mindfully
Pause. Listen to your grief. Be with it, without trying to change it. Let it speak. Practices like Tonglen—breathing in suffering, breathing out compassion—can help us connect with others through shared sorrow. These dark emotions are not barriers; they are teachers.
5. Try This Six-Step Practice
If you’re not ready to dive deep, start gently:
Set an Intention: What do you want to learn or honor through this grief?
Trust the Emotion: Believe that your feelings, even the hardest ones, have something to teach.
Observe the Body: Where do you feel the grief? Stay with the physical sensation. No need to fix it.
Observe the Mind: What stories arise? Let them move through like passing weather.
Widen the Lens: Connect to something bigger—culture, humanity, the cosmos. It helps loosen the grip of personal suffering.
Take Aligned Action: When you're ready, channel your grief into something meaningful. Support someone else. Create something. Let your experience be of service.
Grief is not the end of the story.
It is a chapter. A turning point.
A sacred teacher.
It may crack us open—but it also expands our capacity for love. If we allow it to move through us, if we choose to engage with it rather than escape it, grief becomes the threshold to healing, to wholeness, to becoming more human.
Let yourself feel. Let yourself fall apart.
And know that in the breaking, something beautiful is waiting to emerge.
If this piece resonated with you, I invite you to share it with someone walking through grief. And if you’d like to receive more reflections on healing, mindfulness, and meaning—subscribe below.