Lessons from Unexpected Death

A Journey Through Yoga and Grief

A year ago, my sister died, and I will never be the same. I could share how wonderfully unique and spirited she was, but I’m not ready to talk about her in detail yet; my words wouldn't do her justice.

What I am ready to discuss is death itself and how we often make it into such a monumental event. Everyone dies, but we are fragile beings existing in this world, expecting to live forever while taking risks every day. Some of us die of old age, and some die young. Why should it matter when we go, as long as we have truly lived? And live we can, at any age, at any moment.

My sister lived life on her terms, guided by an inner calling rather than seeking external recognition. Growing up, I witnessed her deep love for animals and nature, which instilled in me a foundation of compassion that deeply influences my yoga practice today. Losing her physical presence has been incredibly difficult, but her spirit remains with me. I realize that what I loved most about her is intangible and free of form, and that kind of love is hard to lose.

In the initial days after her passing, it felt as if the ground beneath my feet had vanished, leaving me to plunge into an endless abyss. Everything I had known and relied upon was suddenly gone, and I found myself alone and disoriented. We were supposed to live until we were 80 or older for our deaths to be deemed socially acceptable and normal. Yes, young people die all the time, but that was never supposed to happen to us. How could it happen to us?

And yet, it did happen to us, bringing a sudden acceptance of death, regardless of age. At this point, I need to explain my inner practices of yoga, which provided the strength I desperately needed. When I say yoga, I mean any practice that brings you into a state of presence and loving awareness. For a while, it was hard for me to use words like 'loving.' I was angry that my sister was gone while others still had their families intact. It took time to move past the sense of injustice and reach a place of acceptance that life truly is difficult.

I can't help but see things in an objective light, especially when so much suffering surrounds us. I find myself grateful for the bed I sleep on and the food I eat and my loving mother—things I've generally taken for granted all my life. With so much war, chaos, and pain that some live through, yet still manage to smile, I am constantly inspired by those who shine through suffering. I find solace in knowing that my pain, while significant, may not be as severe as what others endure.

I had practiced yoga for nearly a decade before experiencing the most traumatic event of my life. Over the years, I’ve developed the tools to cope both mentally and physically, without even realising it. Many see my asanas and reduce my practice to a workout, but true practitioners know that yoga is inseparable from life itself. All life is yoga, and we learn the most about living from death and dying. This introspective nature of our practice arises from understanding the transient nature of existence.

Sudden and unexpected death, though deeply painful, is part of the natural cycle of life. Yoga teaches us to honour our emotions, process grief, and transform pain into growth and understanding. Consistent practice helps us stay present, recognising that love and connection transcend physical presence. Ultimately, yoga reveals that while death is inevitable, our true essence, the inner light within us, is eternal, providing comfort and strength even in the face of the most challenging losses.

I share this from personal experience. I wish we were taught about death as children and how it’s a natural part of life, no matter the age. Much of the challenge was dealing with society's pity and their perception of our loss while we were trying our best to view it in a different light.

The first realisation is that healing is a solitary journey. I’m sorry if anyone told you otherwise. Loved ones can offer support and a shoulder to cry on, but the inner work begins and ends with you. It requires the willingness to face your suffering and endure the pain while dealing with daily life. This is where practice is essential.

It doesn’t have to be yoga specifically; for me, yoga means a state of presence and meditation. I experienced this deeply when I started swimming through my grief. My sister and I always had a deep love for the water; she called us "water babies." To honor our love for it, I began to swim beautifully, striving to improve my technique, perfect my stroke, and enhance my breath capacity. This demands practice, patience, and passion—qualities I developed through dedicated yoga practice. I feel the strongest connection to her when I’m in the water, doing what we love.

Also, if you don't already have an animal companion, consider getting one. No matter what difficult situation you are facing, interacting with sentient beings like dogs, cats, or cows will always be beneficial. Animals do not judge or hold expectations, creating a safe space for us to express our emotions freely. Their unconditional presence provides comfort and grounding during times of pain and loss.

If you're experiencing a similar or devastating life situation, all you need is a couple of good human beings by your side, an animal companion, and a consistent practice to help you through it.

I did not want to live anymore after she died. But now, I say that I will live well for the both of us.