This Week’s ABC

📖 Advice: Magic Requires Seeing

“That is, to know love, one will have to be in love. That is dangerous because you will not remain the same. The experience is going to change you. The moment you enter love, you enter a different person. And when you come out you will not be able to recognize your old face; it will not belong to you. A discontinuity will have happened. Now there is a gap, the old man is dead and the new man has come. That is what is known as a rebirth–being twice-born.” —Osho

Losing Nibbler, my companion for eight years****, has been one of the most painful experiences of my life.

But grief, as much as it hurts, has also taught me to look for love in the most unexpected places.

During the holidays, I usually go on a climbing trip with Nibbler.

I was on the fence about going now that he’s passed away, and was feeling avoidant of rock climbing in general.

I started rock climbing after I got Nibbler, so he had always been with me on climbing trips. I knew I would be sad to not have him adventuring by my side.

It was an eventuality I knew I had to tackle at some point—might as well do it now.

I went on a road trip to Red Rock, Vegas.

For my first climbing session without Nibbler, I was at a boulder warming up, feeling a bit sad, trying to focus and having a hard time.

What’s funny is that I saw a bird next to me as I was warming up. It kept walking around and hanging out with me.

It stayed for the longest time.

I eventually thought it was Nibbler in bird form so that his dad didn’t have to boulder alone.

It was so sweet, and then another bird came (I saw that one as Poppy). And they both just hung around while I was climbing.

Literally in spots Nibbler would hang, by my water bottle or other things. It was the most beautiful thing to experience.

I proceeded to climb a little bit at that boulder, packed up my bags and moved to another boulder.

One of the birds revisited me and followed me. It made me so happy.

Then another.

I really couldn’t believe it.

I was shocked. Nothing like this has ever happened (maybe real Nibbler scared away birds 😂)

And it actually came up to me and took a treat from me!

Can you believe that?

What a beautiful experience.

I’ll choose to believe it was Nibbler not wanting his dad to be alone for my first bouldering session and climbing trip without him.

Amidst the pain of grieving my little boy, there have been small, almost magical signs of comfort like this.

I remind myself that I just have to stay open to see them.

*🚀 Breakthrough: *When Nothing Makes Sense, Everything Still Matters

When people talk about the five stages of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance—it often sounds like a checklist.

Do these things—then the grief will be gone.

But grief isn’t linear—at least, not in my experience.

Grief, to me, is like an unpredictable guest.

Grief doesn’t care that I’m bootstrapping a new startup, juggling responsibilities as a caregiver, and leading a new transformation initiative at work.

It creeps up on me during quiet moments, and overwhelms me with sadness, guilt, shame, and fear.

It tests my emotional resilience.

I believe my grief is my own responsibility. I own my emotions.

Nobody else does.

It is my own responsibility to pick myself up, dust myself off, and move forward.

Nobody else’s.

So what does it mean to own your own grief?

For me, it means leaning into things that used to feel super vulnerable and scary (before I had Poppy and Nibbler, and before I went to therapy):

1. Support: Asking my loved ones for support and affirmations even if I don’t want to
2. Reflection: Writing and journaling about the experience, even if it’s painful and I don’t want to
3. Sleep: Making sure I sleep well even if I just want to doomscroll through old photos and videos of my babies instead, even if I don’t want to
4. Health: Hitting the gym, rock climbing, and eating healthy even if I don’t want to
5. Intentional Grieving: Looking at photos and videos of my pups, even if they bring tears to my eyes, even when it’s extremely painful and I don’t want to (yes, sometimes I want to, sometimes I don’t—grief is weird like that)

All of the things I know I need to do, to pick myself up, dust myself off, and keep pushing forward and getting after it in life.

That’s what Poppy and Nibbler would have wanted for their dad.

I’ve lost many loved ones throughout the years—my grandparents, my uncle…

Each time I learn a bit more about myself and my own grieving process.

My biggest takeaway?

Leaning into the grief is the healthiest thing you can do in the long run.

Crying your eyeballs out until the source of your tears is a desert, is the healthiest thing you can do in the long run.

Otherwise the grief stays within your body and can manifest in unhealthy ways.

My main barometer for how far I’ve progressed in the grieving process comes down to one question:

As I lean into grief, the proportion of times I can do so increases.

Progress.

During this period of time, I am heavily leaning into grief in a healthy way (even though, I don’t want to).

There are 5 stages of grief, and I’ve learned that during the grieving period I experience them in waves.

Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

They’re all cousins at a holiday dinner table bickering inside my heart—sometimes simultaneously together, sometimes alone.

Being acutely aware of them helps me process.

5 Stages of Grieving Nibbler

*Can I think of them and feel gratitude, and not sharp visceral pain?*Advice: What Nibbler and grief taught me about love that never leaves.

Breakthrough: The 5 stages of grief, my experience processing, and a poem on loss.

Challenge: A simple exercise to appreciate those you’ve lost, to love more deeply.

I decided to go anyway, to lean into the grief.

1. Denial: The First Wave

Even as I held Nibbler’s lifeless body at the vet, a part of me refused to believe he was gone. I whispered, “This can’t be real. Not Nibbler. Not my boy.” Denial was a shield against the unbearable truth.

2. Anger: The What-Ifs

*I was hard on myself. *

Why did I leave him alone? Why didn’t I get home sooner? Why didn’t I do more? Anger wasn’t just at the world—it was at myself, at fate, at every butterfly effect that led to that day.

3. Bargaining: The Silent Plea

As he lay on the vet’s table, I begged silently, Please let him be okay. Take me instead. Bargaining is grief’s desperate attempt to rewrite reality, even when we know it’s futile. I knew this, yet I still felt it deeply—viscerally.

4. Depression: The Hollow Ache

The deafening silence at home, the absence of his tail wagging, the little sounds he made drinking water and eating food—all of it left a hollow space that felt impossible to fill. Depression was the weight of grief settling in, a reminder of what I’d lost. I had to accept that this heaviness was all part of the love I shared with him.

I felt utter despair and emptiness.