My dad passed away last Saturday.
Even as I write those words, they catch in my throat. My dad was my rock—steady, strong, always there. As a little girl, I used to feel this knot of fear whenever I imagined losing him. And now? That fear has become real. His absence feels like glass inside me—sharp and fragile. I feel exposed, like I’ve been cracked wide open, and yet, I’m still standing.
This grief is a deep, physical kind of ache. It sits in my bones, sharp and raw. But it’s also layered with something else: gratitude. My dad lived fully, right up until the end. He passed exactly how we talked about wanting to go—with dignity, surrounded by love, still doing what he loved most: playing with his grandkids, praying, teaching, and connecting with the people he cared about. He wasn’t in pain for long, just 42 hours. He left us gracefully, the same way he lived.
Grief, though, isn’t just pain. It’s complicated and messy. It’s tangled up with love and memories and a sense of “this isn’t fair.” Some moments, I chuckle and laugh thinking about a beautiful memory with him—like how he used to make up ridiculous nicknames for us or tell the same old jokes at every family gathering. And then, just as quickly, the laughter gives way to tears when I realize he’s gone.
Here’s what I’ve realized through this loss: grief will bring you face-to-face with the deepest parts of yourself—the parts that hurt, the parts that have healed, and the parts that are now coming up for healing. Pain makes things very clear. It shows you the exact parts of you that are looking for healing.
Me and my dad (Abbu)
On my engagement
1. Feel the Pain, or It Will Crystallize Inside You
Grief demands to be felt. You can’t skip it or run from it. If you try to ignore it, it doesn’t go away. It crystallizes, hardening into emotional or physical pain that can take years to untangle.
But feeling the pain doesn’t mean letting it swallow you whole. It can be a process—something you approach one small step at a time. In some moments, I have a good cry. Other days, I write memories of my dad, share stories with my loved ones, and every day I practice more deeply what he taught me. Feeling the pain in increments allows it to move through me instead of staying stuck inside.
It’s like traveling at night in the desert—you only need to walk to where the light is showing you the way. Once you get there, more light will appear, and you can step into that next space. One moment of pain and upset at a time.
2. You Can Hold Pain and Peace Together
Grief doesn’t block out light. It doesn’t mean you can’t feel gratitude or peace. You can hold both at the same time.
My sister and I, who live and teach this work, found ourselves holding space for our family while navigating our own grief. We chose not to avoid the pain—we allowed it in gently as we felt ready, finding that sweet spot between overexposure and denial. I was surprised to notice how easily we could connect to gratitude in the midst of our grief: for my dad’s incredible legacy, for the 10 grandkids who adored him, for the dignity and love that surrounded his life and passing.
Grieving doesn’t have to be single track, all or nothing. It can be multifaceted—the joy and the sadness—in your hands at once.
In moments like these, I witness how far I’ve come, and I appreciate the power and peace this work has given me. The tools I’ve had the honor to learn and live have shaped me in ways I never imagined. They’ve given me the strength to hold both the pain and the peace, to carry the ache of loss while staying grounded in love.
3. There’s Always a Choice in How You Experience Pain
This loss was a living example of a deep truth: even in the middle of pain, we still have a choice.
There was a part of me that felt like drowning, like throwing a tantrum and shouting, “This isn’t fair!” It was the part of me that wanted to sink into victimhood. But alongside that part was something new—a quiet peace, a clarity. A surrender. It whispered, Everything is unfolding exactly as it’s meant to. You’re just finding out as you go.
When you are stuck in grief, look for other parts of yourself. Like Eckhart Tolle says: You experience grief; you are not the grief you experience. You feel sad; you are not the sadness you feel. You are more than that. If you pause, you can become aware of the part of you that is calm, steady, and even at peace. That part can remind you that you can feel the pain without becoming the pain. You don’t have to take it on as your new identity.
This perspective—the trust that we’re on a need-to-know basis with God, the universe, or whatever you believe in—allowed me to stop my desire to control and be fully present by embracing the unknowing. We will know what we need to know when we are meant to know it, and not a second before.
Through this grief, I’ve felt so grateful for the healing energy of The School for Transformational Healing. It is my favorite work because I get to be around the energy of healing every time I teach it, and that heals me a little more, too. It’s an incredible gift to witness one person after another fully stand in the power of who they are without their fear and pain, without their judgments. The work we do at the TH School has changed thousands of lives—including my own and that of my family.
If you’re grieving, hurting, or carrying pain of any kind, here’s what I want you to know:
Be gentle and allow yourself to feel it. Slowly, if that’s all you can manage. Practice holding both the pain and the peace. Trust that even in the deepest moments of grief, there is a light inside you—a steady flame, ready to guide you through.