The Heart That Breaks and Still Loves: Grief in Real Time

Grief doesn't arrive like a polite guest. It crashes in like it owns the place, tears the curtains down, puts its feet on your furniture, and dares you to carry on like everything isn’t different now. And sometimes, it shows up with fur.

This morning, I sat in the quiet with my 19-year-old blind cat, who still insists on going outside to sniff the air and feel the sun, even though his body is slowly betraying him. His movements are slower, less certain. His health is declining in the way that is both achingly gentle and brutally obvious. And there I was: second cup of coffee in hand, crying quietly while he stood in the garden like the soft king he is, unaware of how much of my heart is walking around in that little body.

Grief doesn't always come after the loss. Sometimes, it sits next to you while you're still holding on. Sometimes it rides shotgun while you make coffee or fold laundry. It's anticipatory, sneaky, and relentless.

And if you have a big heart—a therapist heart, an empath heart, a "hold space for everyone else" heart—then grief hits in layers.

Because you're not just grieving what's coming. You're grieving the years that flew by, the moments you didn’t know were last times, and the unfairness of loving something that won’t last forever.

I don’t have a five-step solution or a downloadable worksheet for this. What I have is truth:

Grief is a sacred burden. It breaks your heart because you loved well. It breaks your heart because you stayed soft when it would have been easier to harden. It means you were present. And presence—real, vulnerable, holding-on-while-letting-go presence—is the bravest thing any of us can offer.

If you're sitting in grief right now—whether it's for a pet, a person, a version of yourself you had to let go of—you’re not broken. You’re alive. Painfully, beautifully alive. And the fact that it hurts this much? That just means it mattered.

So cry into your coffee. Sit in the sun. Let your heart shatter in whatever shape it needs to. And know this: you’re not alone. You're part of a quiet, fierce tribe of people who keep loving, even with broken hearts.

And some of us have cats who still chase the sun, even when they can no longer see it.