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Grieving Beneath the Stars: Mourners as Spiritual Teachers

by Chloe Zelkha in Daily Good

When I heard my dad was dead, there was a breaking—a shattering inside of me that felt so violent I could almost hear it. I woke up to a knock on my front door in the middle of the night, and sat up in bed, sure something was wrong. It was my older brother. He said he had bad news. “Really bad.” And then the words left his mouth: “Dad had a heart attack, and unfortunately, he passed away.” Like a bone breaking: Sharp pain, dizziness, disbelief. I couldn’t catch my breath for hours.

My dad had been healthy, thriving, just 66 years old. I had texted him the day before. We had a dinner date planned for that week. “How could he possibly be dead?” I thought.

There is a Buddhist story about a monk being followed by a lion in the woods. He notices the animal trailing him and walks a bit faster. FOR MORE



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