Grief can be the garden of compassion. If you keep your heart open through everything, your pain can become your greatest ally in your life’s search for love and wisdom. – Rumi

Three years ago today, my Dad transitioned into his new purpose. It was April 5, 2020 and we were in those precarious first weeks of COVID. Time stood still in many ways, taking on a new dimension to its already illusory nature, filled with uncertainty.

In these three years, I have learned to honor the rhythm of grief created by the void his passing left. Grief comes when it pleases, often unexpectedly, and lovingly demands an audience with me. I now invite it in, as if I was expecting its company, and ask it to teach me about life, about love, about presence. It patiently sits beside me until it senses I have paid it the attention it deserves and then quietly leaves, as if swept away by a gentle breeze.

I have come to see grief as a wise sage, showing me what needs to be examined under the layers of my being. It always leaves the gifts of lightness, relief, and the knowledge I’m surrounded by grace.

Today, I honor my Dad, I honor my grief, I honor my tender, open heart. I release gratitude through tears for the love he gave me, the love that’s still with me. And for the beautiful, precious life I still get to live.

[Photo: My Dad on his wedding day to my Mom, obviously having fun with a traditional Indian Haldi Ceremony.]