A Message That Stirred My Soul

This morning, a friend reached out to share the heartbreaking news of her brother’s passing. Her words lingered in my heart, pulling me into deep reflection about those who have walked beside us and now live on in memory.

Lately, I’ve noticed something unsettling—my social media feed, once filled with life’s everyday moments, is now dotted with memorial pages. It’s a quiet but persistent reminder: time moves forward, and loss becomes a more frequent companion as we age. Ten years ago, mortality felt distant, abstract. Now, it’s a presence I’ve come to know intimately.

Grief Revisited: When the Past Echoes

I found myself scrolling through old blog posts, stopping at the entries written in the raw aftermath of losing my sister, my mother, and even my horse—a loss that, to some, might seem incomparable, but for me, was another thread of love abruptly severed.

Reading those words again, I was transported back to the suffocating weight of fresh grief, the sleepless nights, the way the world seemed both too bright and too dull at once. But I also saw something else: how using Classical Acupuncture and practicing taoism gave me tools to explore the unseen layers of loss—not just to “get through” grief, but to unravel its hidden truths.

The Unique Wound of Losing a Sibling

What struck me most, though, was remembering the particular ache of losing a sibling. There’s something uniquely shattering about it—a bond forged in the unguarded, unfiltered early years of life, before the world taught us to armor our hearts.

A sibling is more than family; they’re a fellow traveler, someone you made an unspoken spiritual pact with to navigate this journey together. They knew you before you learned to perform, before life’s scars and stories shaped you. Their love was one of your first languages, pure and untarnished. To lose them is to lose a piece of your history, your identity, the mirror that reflected your truest self.

What My Friend Is About to Face

As I read my friend’s message, I felt a familiar ache—for her, for the long road ahead. I wished I could hand her the same gifts my profession gave me: the space to let grief unfold without getting stuck, the tools to listen to its whispers, and the certainty that healing isn’t about “getting over” loss—but about learning to speak its language.

Grief is not a linear path but a spiral. Some days, it will feel like a dull whisper; other days, a roaring tempest. She’ll find herself caught off guard by a scent, a song, a fleeting memory that knocks the breath from her lungs.

But she’ll also discover, as I did, that love doesn’t vanish with death. It transforms. It becomes a quiet voice in the wind, a warmth in the sunlight, a knowing presence in dreams. The bond remains, even when the body is gone.

A Letter to My Past Self (And to Anyone Grieving Now)

For my friend—and for anyone walking this painful path:

“You will learn to carry this loss like a sacred weight. It will shape you, but it will not break you. The love you shared with them is now a compass, guiding you forward even when the road is dark. Let yourself feel it all—the anger, the emptiness, the fleeting moments of peace. There is no ‘right’ way to grieve. There is only your way.”

To my friend, and to all who are mourning: You are not alone. The journey is hard, but your heart is stronger than you know.

Classical Acupuncture Based on Taoism Supports Your Healing