---

When a death occurs, people often expect grief to look a certain way — tears, black clothing, long mourning periods. Anything less is often seen as cold, detached, or even disrespectful. I’ve felt those judgments before. Having worked in hospice care, I learned early on that grief wears many faces, and no two souls grieve alike. Some rage, some collapse, some become quiet, and some — like me — commune with the stillness between worlds.

My Relationship with Death

Death has never been a stranger to me. Being born when the veil between worlds is at its thinnest marked me from the beginning. Spirits have always found me — I hear them, feel them, and sense their presence in ways that are impossible to ignore. I am both clairaudient and clairsentient, which means that I hear and feel beyond the veil. To the spirits, I am a light in the darkness, and they are drawn to that glow — just ask my husband, who has seen and felt their visits as much as I have.

When someone I love dies, I do grieve — deeply — but differently. My tears are few, not because I don’t care, but because I understand death as transformation, not as loss. I’ve witnessed the moment a soul takes its final breath and slips away from the body. It’s not something to fear; it’s an awakening. The body is simply a vessel, a beautiful shell that once carried a spark of divine energy. When the shell is left behind, the spirit continues on.

I’ve always disliked funerals. To me, they focus too much on what has been left behind instead of celebrating what continues. I don’t need to stare at a lifeless form when I can feel the living spirit nearby. My mourning takes place in quiet spaces — at my ancestor altar, in candlelight, through whispered conversations in dreams. I speak to them, and they answer. Sometimes I catch their scent in the air, hear their voice in a half-awake moment, or feel the brush of their energy pass by.

My grief may appear cold to others — a brief visit at a funeral, no sobbing in public — but my connection runs deeper. I know the terrain of the land of the ancestors. I’ve walked between those worlds too many times to fear it.

Grieving Across Cultures

Around the world, grief manifests in ways that are as diverse as the human experience itself. In some cultures, mourning is loud and expressive; in others, it is silent and internal — yet all are sacred in their own right.

In Mexico, Día de los Muertos celebrates the dead with color, food, and music. Families build ofrendas adorned with marigolds, photos, and the favorite foods of their ancestors, welcoming the spirits home with joy instead of sorrow. Death is not the end — it’s a reunion.

In Ghana, funerals are elaborate celebrations of life, complete with music, dancing, and storytelling. The Ashanti believe that death is a transition to the ancestral realm, and the deceased must be joyfully sent off so their spirit travels peacefully.

In Japan, Obon is a Buddhist festival where families light lanterns to guide their ancestors back to the spirit world after visiting the living. It’s a time of reverence and remembrance, filled with gratitude for those who came before.

Among Indigenous peoples of North America, death is seen as a return to the Great Spirit. Mourning is intertwined with ceremony — songs, smudging, and prayers that honor the natural cycle of life, death, and rebirth.

And in New Orleans, where Vodou and Catholicism blend in rich spiritual harmony, funerals can be both mournful and jubilant. Jazz funerals begin with slow, solemn hymns and end with lively celebration — a reflection of the soul’s journey from sorrow into freedom.

Embracing Death as Continuation

My way of grieving is not about denial — it’s about recognition. I recognize that life and death are not opposites, but companions. Each breath we take is one step closer to that great return, and each ancestor we honor has simply walked a path we too will one day tread.

When someone dies, I don’t say goodbye. I say, “Until I see you again.” I light candles on my altar, pour water for the spirits, and listen for their whispers in the night. Death is not an ending. It is only life — transformed.