Shrouded in sadness beneath the sunny skies of Mallorca, by the Balearic Sea

Let us allow ourselves to grieve. Our brains are wired to process grief; it is a biological necessity. Whether it is the loss of a loved human being, a beloved horse, a faithful dog who walked every step beside us with love, or a kitten who purred in our lap - each loss is unique, yet all of us feel it deeply in our hearts.

At the beginning of spring, my world was shaken, and most areas of my life fell like a house of cards. Those who know me know that I had been living in a very specific rhythm until then. I had my lovely dog who needed long-term, active health care. We were always together. If I couldn’t, I would take turns with my husband to care for her. Our bond was deeper than routine; we were truly inseparable. She was an Akita Inu — my Ayumi. She wasn’t just a furry friend, she was my family, my companion, my soulmate.

But her health had been gradually declining over the years, and this spring it worsened rapidly. Soon, none of us had any strength left. She wasn't responding to medication; I couldn't let her suffer any longer. And so, though my heart resisted, love demanded that we say goodbye. With love greater than our longing, we let her go — to free her from suffering. For me, that pain touched the deepest part of being alive. Sadness enveloped my soul.

After three months of facing possible changes in residing, work, and many other parts of life, I was exhausted, and the grief still wouldn’t fade. So, I packed the bags and flew to a warmer land. Symbolically, on the very first day of summer.  

I went to Mallorca.

The weather was wonderful: the sea, the warm air, and the divine atmosphere. And yet, I still missed those four paws going happily beside me. I rose every day before sunrise, went to watch the sun climb above the horizon, and tried to capture the exact moment it appeared. On other mornings, I practiced Surya Namaskar (it is the yogic greeting to the sun) or simply sat in silence, absorbing peace.

My daily walks along the sea and the rocks were like balm for the soul. Good food, evening cocktails, music and dancing when possible, and beautiful days, but still, sadness lingered.

I am fascinated by the diversity and irony of life. The range of emotions we can feel is incredible, and if we allow ourselves to experience them fully, they take our breath away. But isn’t that what it means to live? To experience. To discover. To notice.

I let myself be carried by the waves as if I were a seahorse. I didn’t feel the urge to be active; I simply surrendered to the invisible power of nature. The water calmed me. It healed me. I spent hours in the sea, marveling at the endless shades of blue across sky and water. A pure oasis of peace.

In the last few days, the wind rose, the sea grew rough, and swimming no longer seemed wise. So, I read instead. I felt like a stranger, as if only my soul, quietly witnessing, remained present. And in that stillness, I realized: I must find myself again. No, not to find myself. I know my soul more deeply than anything else. But rather, I need to learn how to express my life as I perceive it from the soul.

When I returned home, it took another three months to process my emotions before I could begin sharing them. I had said goodbye not only to my Ayumi, but also to my old way of life.

Now it is September. Summer is fading. Along with the last warm, sunlit days, I, too, am letting go of my recent profound experiences. So I can prepare for the next season, together with nature. A season that both the natural world and we, as human beings within it, must move through.

I cannot yet share everything, but little by little, it is being released. I hope that even these words, this article, and the energy of the coastal world I captured in my video can serve as small support for anyone who has recently lost a beloved being (human or animal) who was incredibly close to them.