A Journey through Grief

The doctor said she was no more.

Debi could not believe the words. Tears filled her eyes in disbelief. She could not even speak.

“After all this, why me?” a trembling voice arose within her.

Meaowi had been with her for the last 6 years. She was a stray but had walked into her life so gracefully that she never felt like one. She was Debi’s support system. In this not-so-familiar world, with not-so-friendly people around, Meaowi was her strength and her comfort space—someone Debi could call home.

The last month had been very difficult. With liver disease, Meaowi would sit in one corner of the bed all day long, as she could hardly move. She was otherwise a fierce, independent black cat—just opposite in nature to her master. She was strong, independent, decisive, and unapologetic. Yet somehow, with all her unlikable qualities, she was loving and cuddly. For Debi, she was her whole world.

A few days passed. They buried her in a cemetery, and Debi would go to see her every day with Meaowi’s favorite rice porridge. She would also feed other strays in the nearby shelter.

She missed her all the time—the morning cuddles, the soft grunts for food, staring at her like a boss lady, and then completely disregarding her when called by name. A mere look, and then she would be busy doing her silly things. Meaowi would twine around her legs and gently rub her face against her feet.

Debi’s room was filled with Meaowi’s toys, her bed, her smell, and her memories—which were haunting. She felt her presence in busyness and in silence. The grief seemed uncontrollable. She cried through many sleepless nights, but the emptiness was unbearable.

Two weeks passed. Debi slowly returned to her usual routine. From the outside, things seemed okay. But inside, a deep vacuum remained. She didn’t sit for meditation or pray, as everything felt meaningless—like a ritual without soul. She felt rage within her, but could not express it, as disobedience felt scary. She had once felt connected to the divine, but somehow that connection now felt lost.

When we are in joy, we accept it easily. But that is not the case with pain. We resist it. We are conditioned not to face pain. Our mind tries to protect us, so we fight or flee—but rarely do we face it. We shut down, believing pain is something to avoid, and that with time it will go away.

But that is not true. With time, it turns into suffering—a constant ache, a quiet bitterness. We begin complaining. We beg and plead to God for solutions. We do not ask for strength; instead, we try to control outcomes with our own perceived answers. And when things don’t happen our way, we grow angry. We lose faith. We begin to question the meaning of our prayers.

When the anger becomes too much for the body to hold, we either break down in tears—or we go numb.

Debi felt she could not share her pain with anyone. Her cry reached her lips, but words would not come—as if her mind could not process or express what she felt. She wanted someone to come and help, but she could not ask. The thoughts in her mind became more tangled, and she grew quieter. It felt like a dark abyss with no path—like falling endlessly into an infinite pit.

Then one day, she decided to donate all of Meaowi’s toys to an orphanage. She gathered everything and placed them into carton boxes. It felt different. Something within her whispered to allow the pain to flow.

The only way to let go is not by resisting, but by allowing yourself to feel.

Something shifted within her as tears rolled down her eyes. Strangely, she did not feel overwhelmed. Instead, there was a quiet sense of calm. She realized that the chaos outside was reflecting something within her—and that something deeper, a feeling of abandonment, needed healing.

In moments like these, something inside us breaks. And when that crack appears in the ego, light finds its way in. Perhaps that is what we call divine grace.

Meaowi was no longer beside her, but she lived within her—in every memory, every habit, every silent moment.

Days passed.

Debi returned to her prayers—not out of fear or duty, but from surrender. Not asking for answers, not demanding outcomes, but simply seeking the strength to be with what is.

She understood then—pain was not her enemy. It was a doorway. A doorway to deeper love, deeper surrender, deeper connection.

And maybe, just maybe, healing was not about forgetting or moving on.

It was about learning to live with love in a different way.