"It's so much darker when a light goes out, than it would have been
if it had never shone."
- John Steinbeck -
When we lose someone—whether a person, a dream, a way of life—it
can trigger a whole constellation of emotions. If we don’t give those feelings the time, space, and respect they deserve, they may linger unresolved beneath the surface, affecting us long after the moment has passed.
Recently, I lost a dear client. It was sudden. A real shock.
A Sudden Goodbye
She began working with me in February 2024, and we continued together for 18 months. Somewhere in the middle of our work, she received a breast cancer
diagnosis. Shortly after that, I travelled to South Africa for six weeks to visit my mom with Parkinson's.
Knowing she needed support during that time, I referred her to a trusted colleague. That collaboration worked beautifully, and when I returned to the UK, the two of us continued supporting her—each in our own way.
She was incredibly resilient. Despite the challenges of chemo, she responded well. Fatigue came and went, and her appetite fluctuated,
but she hardly ever missed a session. There was no vomiting, only occasional nausea. Her presence, even in discomfort, was steady.
I last saw her during a time I was away with Andrew, for one of his courses. On that day, she wasn’t herself—low energy, unmotivated, subdued. The next day she met with my colleague but had to end the session early due to nausea and vomiting. A week later, my colleague asked if I had heard from her—she hadn’t shown up for her session and hadn’t
been in touch. This was unlike her. She was always reliable and communicative.
We grew concerned.
Eventually, I contacted a mutual friend—the one who had initially referred her—and heard the devastating news. She had passed away. It seemed to have happened the day my colleague last saw her.
The Brain Tries to Understand the Unthinkable
The shock was immense. My body responded before my mind could catch up—tears simply flowed
down my face. I had seen her just days before. She was meant to have surgery the following week. She was doing “well enough” given what her body had endured. My brain could not comprehend the finality.
She had spent forty years on this Earth. A full life, filled with both joy and challenge. And now—gone. Just like that. A complete life, now a memory.
I remember having the same sensation when my father passed away: the odd, disorienting realisation that
someone’s entire existence is now only in the past.
That night, sleep was elusive. My brain, bless it, tried to make sense of the loss. Someone I had seen nearly every week for 18 months would simply not be there tomorrow. The absence felt incomprehensible.
Honouring Her Presence
I did some tapping on the day I found out. It helped, but there was still much more to process. Her next appointment was still in my calendar. Deleting it felt
disrespectful—like erasing her memory and all the beautiful work we had done together.
So, I kept the appointment.
At the time of her session the next day, I sat down at my computer—the same spot where we’d met so many times. I lit a candle and placed my hand over my heart. The sadness returned. How could it be that I would never see her again?
An Honest Conversation Across Realms
I felt drawn to speak to her. To have one last
“session,” if you like.
The truth is—she had been a challenge for me to work with at times. I had consulted with mentors and supervisors, pushed my own edges, expanded my toolkit. It wasn’t always easy. And yet, I truly wanted to support her, so I grew.
So in that candlelit, quiet space, I told her the truth. I spoke from my heart. I told her about the challenges, the effort, the growth. I cried, I laughed, I was honest. Not everything was easy—but
there was such value in it all.
I didn’t want to offer a sugar-coated eulogy. I believe wherever she is now, she’d see right through that. She deserves the truth. And in that truth, there was immense love and gratitude.
I thanked her—for challenging me, for paying her invoices so promptly (almost before they were sent!), for all that she brought to our sessions. I tapped on my finger points while I spoke, allowing the emotions to rise, move through, and
release.
I paused often. Sometimes I sat in silence, just being with the feelings. When more thoughts arose, I resumed speaking.
After about 20 minutes, I felt complete. I had said what needed to be said. I felt clearer, lighter—relieved. It felt like a respectful closing of our relationship. An honouring of all the time, courage, and transformation she had brought to our work together.
I left the candle burning for a while longer,
then gently blew it out. My brain, it seemed, had finally caught up. I could sleep that night. The shock, disbelief, and pain had softened into peace.
What This Reminded Me About Grief and Loss
I've had many instances of big loss and grief. And this reminded me again that loss must not be ignored. Even the smallest grief deserves space, honouring, and expression. When we suppress or bypass it, it finds other ways to surface—physically, emotionally,
spiritually.
Loss isn’t just about death. It’s anything that removes something meaningful from our life.
Examples of losses include:
- The death of a loved one, friend, client, or pet
- Losing a job or financial security
- The end of a relationship or friendship
- Loss of health or a sense of vitality
- Lost dreams, futures that no longer seem possible
- Children moving out, or loved ones
emigrating
- Health flares that chip away at hope
- Even subtle disappointments can be mini-losses. They deserve tending too.
