23/05/2025
When my father died, something ancient in me awakened.
A door I had never touched before opened —
and what I found was not only grief,
but prayer, silence,
and the quiet reweaving of who I thought I was.
These 11 truths came to me not as lessons,
but as breaths —
soft, unspoken initiations
into the sacred ground of letting go.
Grief is not a wound to close,
but a river to enter.
It purifies. It remembers.
It carries us to the edge of what truly matters.
To those who have lost,
or are slowly saying goodbye —
this is a hand on your back,
a whisper in your ear:
You are not alone.
And if something in this speaks to your heart,
I would love to know —
What did death teach you about love?
