A letter for when someone passes

I hope you find the strength to realize that it is acceptable to pause, to take all the time you need, to simply exist in this moment.

To be in this life means we can also break sometimes.

I hope you find the courage to remember there’s always a spark of calm in the midst of the chaos. There’s always a choice unraveling from every dream.

To be in this life means we can also break sometimes. As dark as it might feel right now, your future holds a bright light. One that can get dim or weak, but keeps shining with the intensity it’s meant to, in this very moment.

Even if you cannot see beyond the next moment, allow the grace of all the paths you have already walked to be your anchor.

Please, in this moment, stop trying to fix yourself. Stop forcing yourself to let go. Stop trying to heal.

Life itself comes to us in every possible color. Some joyful, some jarring. Some that lighten us up and emerge with an effervescent glow. Others that feel like burning flames or suffocating waves. And of course, we only want to experience those that feel easy, to filter our way through this existence.

The truth is, there is no life without polarities. Even if we avoid them, there is no safe exit or secret passage without both. The waves of pain, grief, uncertainty, fear, they are not trials or errors to be erased. They happen for us to honor them the same way we honor the bright moments. They only ask us to be here, in the healing arms of a loving awareness.

But why? Why, in this present moment, is the heart shattering? Why won’t the mind stop spiraling into what ifs and whys? Why, even though we try, do we feel so stuck or so far from where we thought we would be by now?

Maybe the hidden treasure is that sometimes the present moment is meant to feel uneasy. Uncomfortable, blurry, crushing. While surrender, acceptance, joy seem like a distant dream.

And I’m no wise guru or anything, but all I can share from experience is that all of this, the storm, the shaky ground, this moment, can never truly go wrong. It is our resistance to it that keeps us exhausted.

When a loved one passes, be in the moment. Cry, scream, fall on your knees, break, but stay in the moment. The beauty of death is that our loved ones do not disappear. They have transcended location and time. They are not physically here, but neither they nor any of us are truly tied to our bodies, even if we are deeply attached to them.

I like to believe that not even death can stop us from loving someone.

The most wholehearted invitation is to reconnect with a deeper layer of love. A kind of love that has no shape or limit. A love that does not care about past or future, while remaining present as our days pass.

An everlasting love that, wherever you decide to go, is part of you in its unique essence, whispering, I am with you.

This is a moment to leave the healing books on the table for a while. No need for superpowers or superhuman strength. It is a moment to fall apart, dear one. The pain, the shock, and the sorrow you’re experiencing, let those be anchors to this moment, where you can realize how immensely you can love.

Maybe it’s a myth that vitality lies in the next shiny, bigger thing, in the endless strategizing for more.

Maybe the deeper truth is this. Vitality isn’t waiting somewhere out there, but quietly asking to be noticed.

We often lose our way in times of transition. We are human. But beneath those layers, there’s a subtler shift inviting us to attune to the soft moments. The stillness. The quiet stretches. The warmth of a hug. The liberating sensation of a deep exhale. The very things we overlook while chasing what’s next.

And it’s precisely in those fleeting instants where life reveals the wisdom of presence.

Let this chapter be your north. Let this plethora of sensations be your container in this wavy, stormy ocean. Because as much as it burns, and will burn for a while, it’s well known that waves do calm down.

This darkness, my friend, is one of the rawest journeys you’ll ever walk. One that reveals love in a different form. Don’t rush to the moment it passes; instead, stay gentle, stay soft, and let it remind you, in every wave, of just how deeply you are capable of loving.

I feel you.