the son
the light of grief and learning to love, again... plus, Pet Loss Grief Circle this Sunday (1/19) all proceeds will go directly to the Pasadena Humane Society (2 spots left!)
it was on the darkest day
the deepest depths of my life
that you, dear carlos son,
showed me the light still burns bright
it was if the clouds parted
and the chaos ceased
suddenly, you were there
a police officer guiding you on a leash
that day of endings
was the beginning of you and me
our story of healing
and you reminding me I can trust, love and continue to leap
my heart - so broken
and my spirit felt so weak
you were my constant - my certain -
sharing all of your heart and soul so freely with me
( c a r l o s teaching me to l o v e )
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As I reflect on the four years since Carlos’s passing, I am not just revisiting a loss—I am remembering a love that transcended anything I could have imagined at the time. Carlos came into my life as my parents' dog. He was their companion, their constant joy, and he became a part of my world in a way I could never have anticipated. On the day of their death—homicide and suicide that shattered everything—Carlos was my light. In the darkest, most unimaginable moment of my life, he was the brightest ray of love, guiding me through the pain, never leaving my side.
I’ll admit, when I first met Carlos, I didn’t immediately connect with him. He was small—cuter than I thought was my type, and I had convinced myself I was more of a big-dog person. It’s hard to admit now, but I think I kept him at arm’s length, a defense mechanism perhaps. It wasn’t yet time for both of us to fully open to each other, and so I did what I had done before—I pushed him away.
But then, everything changed.
It was July 4th, 2013. The day my parents' story came to a devastating, tragic end. That day marked the moment Carlos and I began our journey together. Amidst the chaos—the police, the EMTs, the media, the overwhelming weight of grief—there he was. Found by the police officers, safe in our bathroom, as the world around me seemed to shatter. I can still feel the moment in my bones when they walked him toward me. He was going home with me, and I knew it, in that deep way we know things we don’t have words for.
In the aftermath, Carlos became my heart’s anchor. Through the confusion and pain, he opened my heart again. His love was unwavering, a force that I didn’t know I could access again. It was through him, through his quiet and constant love, that I learned how to love again, even through the cracks and fragments that I had long neglected. That was his gift to me—he helped me heal, and he was the love that never left.
We lost him suddenly, and unexpectedly, to cancer. I’ll never forget the day we brought him to the emergency vet. The doctors had hope—it might be pancreatitis, they said, but on that ride home, my heart was full of both fear and hope. As we drove, I held him in my lap, feeling the warmth of his body and the sunlight shining in through the car window. It was in that moment that seven hawks appeared, in separate places, lined up on the right side of the car—like a living salute to our boy. Seven hawks, one after the other, rising and falling with the rhythm of the ride, as if to say: “He’s going to be okay.” That seventh hawk was something else, truly majestic, a sign I’ll always remember. It felt like a confirmation—Carlos had done his work, and when I look back, I feel it was their nod of recognition of a job well done and I now know, it is my turn to carry his light forward…
Carlos’s love transcended that of any earthly being—it was the unconditional, steady, unwavering force that carried me when I thought I couldn’t carry myself. It was in his absence that he left behind something powerful—a roadmap to healing. Through the rawness of my heartbreak, I learned the deepest lesson of all: to love again. And not just to love with the parts of me that were whole, but with the cracks, the fragile places, and the tender, aching spaces I had long ignored.
His love, much like the cycles of the Earth, never dies—it transforms. It evolves. It spreads. Carlos taught me that my heart is not just my own—it is part of a larger, breathing, interconnected whole. And in the very moment he left this physical world, I was awakened to the deeper truth of our shared existence. This truth has since guided me through my grief and through the larger, collective grief I now see all around us.
Today, as I face the devastation caused by the fires in California, I can’t help but see the echoes of my own grief reflected in the world around us. The fires, the destruction of ecosystems, the displacement of families and animals—it is a loss that mirrors the heartache I experienced with Carlos. I know that this world is on fire, quite literally, and I cannot look away. The fires are not just a crisis of nature; they are a reflection of our broken systems—systems that prioritize profit over people, over the planet, over peace. This is the same grief I felt with Carlos: it’s a grief borne out of neglect, of turning away from what matters most.
But even in the chaos of that grief, I recognize the opportunity to open, to heal, to love. This crisis—the fires, the climate devastation, the harm we’ve inflicted on the Earth—is a call for us all to do what Carlos did for me: to open our hearts, to face the loss and destruction, and to commit to healing—not just ourselves, but the world around us.
Carlos’s legacy was not only about helping me heal from grief but also about awakening me to the interconnectedness of all things. And now, as I grieve with all those impacted by the fires, I am reminded that this grief is not separate. It is collective. It is shared by all of us who are waking up to the truth that we are part of a larger story—a story that is being rewritten right now. The animals, the humans, the land—all of it is in this together. And we are the ones who have the power to rewrite the ending. But that change starts in our hearts. It begins with our willingness to confront the devastation around us and to say, We will not look away any longer.
This is why I’m holding the Pet Loss Grief Circle this Sunday with my comrade in compassion
. It is an invitation to gather in shared vulnerability, to sit together in the tender spaces of loss, and to allow our hearts to break open—to make space for healing, for love, for what has yet to be seen. When we grieve together, we heal together, and in that healing, we transform not only ourselves but the world around us. Carlos’s mission was always to show me that love, even in its most painful form, is the path to wholeness. It is what will lead us to collective healing.All proceeds from this grief circle will be donated to the Pasadena Humane Society, who are doing essential work caring for animals displaced by the fires. In their hands, your presence in this circle will not just honor the memory of your beloved pets but will also support the countless other animals still needing care and shelter. Together, we will pour our love and our grief into action.
So as we sit with our grief, let us remember that it is not just about the loss we carry—it is about the world we are called to heal. The work we do in our hearts is the work we do for the planet, for our communities, and for all living beings. It is time to rise together, rooted in love, compassion, and the unwavering belief that transformation is possible. The world is waking up, and with each act of love and connection, we wake up too.
I hope to see you on Sunday, as we create this sacred space to grieve, heal, and rise. We are here to rewrite the story, to walk through the fire, and to emerge together—more connected, more compassionate, and more committed to the change we wish to see. May we make Carlos proud. Hearts high and widely open.
We have two seats left. We’d love to have you join us. register here: https://app.acuityscheduling.com/schedule/d85ba771/?appointmentTypeIds[]=55832749
and PS: public practices begin tomorrow morning in Midland at The Hive,
and PSS: here is a meditation practice led and shared by myself and Julie… may this support you and all you and your heart are holding,
❤️ If you can, please consider clicking the heart button at the top or bottom of the page. It helps me reach more hearts, expand the circle, and continue sharing this work with others—especially as a small fish in this vast sea of creatives. Your support, in whatever form it takes, makes a world of difference, and I appreciate every bit of love and connection you bring❤️