Patacara lost her husband, her two children, her parents, and her brother. All in one day. All on the same road. She walked the streets screaming. People threw things at her. She came to the Buddha, and he didn't tell her to be strong. He didn't tell her it was part of a plan. He didn't tell her to be grateful for what she had left. He never told anyone that. She was allowed to be exactly where she was. That's the part of the story I hold on to. If you're going through the loss of a friend, a family member, a precious pet, or feeling a loss of self right now, I want you to know something before anything else in this post..... I'm not going to try to move you along. You don't have to be better by the end of this. You don't have to find the meaning, or say the wise thing, or tell anyone you're doing okay when you're not. You don't have to want company, and you don't have to want to talk. If you'd rather sit in silence, I'll sit in silence with you. If you want to tell me about them, I want to hear it. Say their name here. Say it as many times as you want. I'll listen. I know how it takes over the day. The hours you don't know what to do with. Standing in a room and not remembering why you walked in. Going through the motions with your body while your mind is somewhere else entirely. Being fine, and then a song starts, or a smell, and it's got you again. I know the wanting to be alone with it. How the whole world feels too loud and too much and you'd rather just close the door. I know that too. And I also know the other thing. The one that's hard to say out loud. That there's nothing ahead. That this is it now. That the tunnel doesn't end, it just goes on, and you're supposed to keep walking it anyway. I won't argue with you about that. You can't be argued out of it, and I'd be lying if I said I'd never stood in that same place. But here's what I'll do instead. I'll hold the light for you while you can't see it. You don't have to believe in it yet. You don't have to look for it.