Tini on an Emotional Adventure
Preface
Fifteen years ago, after making the decision to divorce, I lost two of my closest friends—the godmothers of my children. They weren’t just my friends; they were life partners, a couple who had become family to me. I didn’t lose them out of anger or betrayal, but because they couldn’t understand my choice. They urged me to return to my former husband, unable to see the weight of what I was escaping—the suffocating environment that affected both me and my children.
I had asked them to wait. Just wait. Let me get through the storm of divorce, and then I would have space for connection again. But I couldn’t carry their disapproval and worries while fighting the fight of my life. They didn’t understand, and when I reached out afterward, the door had closed.
They still saw my children. But we, who were once like family, became strangers although I tried several times to rekindle, their answer to that stayed firm: “You hurted us Tini.”
Months ago, one of them lost the other one to cancer. And now, after all these years, the delicate thread of contact has been rekindled—carefully, hesitantly, through the fragile bridge of grief.
Love, freedom and possibility
“But my neighbors did that, Tini, and they came back. There’s no decent healthcare, and for that reason, I want to stay in Belgium. You should reconsider that too.”
She was referring to my plan to move abroad.
“There is healthcare,” I replied. But I let the debate slip away, after all her reaction was understandeble since her love had lost her life due to disease. I knew better than to get caught in the spiral.
Her neighbors had bought a house for 8,000 euros in the country I was moving to, only to return three years later. I didn’t say it, but I thought: If someone can only afford an 8,000-euro house, they likely can’t afford much in healthcare either. I had done my research. But this wasn’t about facts.
The real conversation was underneath—the quiet undercurrents of loss, resistance, and the stories we tell ourselves.
We hadn’t spoken in fifteen years, and yet, here we were, on the telephone, standing on the same divide as before.
I spoke of love, freedom, and possibility. She spoke of grief, complaints, and all the reasons life was difficult. Her voice, so soft and fragile now, was woven with pain and regret. She told me how her insecurities had grown, how nobody could possibly understand what she was going through. She would repeat the sentence several times.
I listened. And yet, deep inside, I felt that old resistance rise. The same feeling that had once pushed us apart. Even now, she refused to see me in person, to go for a walk with wind in our hair, a fire-water drink, a real-live Life talk where we could feel each others energy more than just this one call on the phone…
Real pain
“I have never felt more pain than this in my life. Nobody can imagine what I had to endure!”
Every day, she had asked herself if her partner would make it through. Every day, she had watched her lose a little more strength.
And as I listened, my body spoke before my mind could catch up—a deep tightening in my stomach, strangely accompanied by heaps of compassion.
Fifteen years had passed. But we were still here, in the same conversation.
Only now, the pain was real.
Before, it had been a mindset. A way of shaping life. Back then, her pain had no singular cause—it was just how she experienced the world. And I had left for a while because I couldn’t live in that space.
But now, she was grieving. Deeply. Rightfully.
Her partner had died. And then her friend. And then her dog. And the veterinarian who had euthanized her dog was, in her words, a villain.
There was no denying the weight of it.
Yet, even as I felt for her, something inside me whispered: Will she always see pain as a punishment? Will she always make herself its victim? (As I did once?)
She needed confirmation. She needed me to say, Yes, this is the worst thing a person can go through.
But it isn’t.
And I couldn’t.
How do we see life? How do we see death?
I have heard stories of suffering my whole life. I have lived through them. I have sat with them, embraced them, and learned from them. But I can no longer see them the way she does—not even when the story contains actual death.
Something about the way she tells it now feels the same as it did back then. Only magnified. Amplified.
And that unsettles me.
Am I being unkind? Or am I touching on the pattern that drove us apart?
Is the difference between us in how we see life? Or how we see death?
My body always warns me when something is off—when the perspective given does not align with my own. I do not believe that every event is a punishment, every loss a condemnation. I do not believe pain should be enshrined.
And I wonder—how did she not see the gold in those final days with her partner?
They had the chance to say the unspeakable, to speak of life and death while both still had a voice. They had the rarest of gifts: awareness of the goodbye.
Did they use it fully?
Or was the grief already pre-written?
I understand
Of course, the pain is still fresh. It’s understandable. It’s necessary. But she has always clung to pain, even before life gave her reason.
And so, carefully, I tried to reach her:
“It must have been terrible for you,” I said. “But also beautiful, no?”
Guilt washed over me for adding that second part.
She didn’t want that from me. She needed the pain. She wanted me to meet her there, to validate the depth of it.
And yet, my body resisted. Pain has its place. But it is not king. It is not meant to be held onto, polished, and made sacred.
I could not give her what she wanted. But I could offer something else.
“Holding onto the pain this way, my love, is your way of keeping her close,” I told her. “It’s your way of honoring what was. I understand.”
New life on the horizon
Later in the conversation, she guessed.
“Your son… he’s going to have a baby, isn’t he?”
And in my pause, she found the answer.
So, you have to prepare, honey. New life is coming. And we will be the Elders—the ones this little soul will look to, take clues from, build upon, until she remembers she is, in fact, an eternal Star.
You see, my friend, pain does have a purpose. But its purpose is not to be worshiped. Not to be worn like an heirloom. Not to be the defining trait of a life.
Even when facing death, pain is meant to break us open—not trap us in. It is meant for growth. For freedom. It is intended to wake us up, so the next generations—and we ourselves—can pluck the benefits of such insights.
I hope you find your way, D. I love you.
It is tender and raw to feel you lost like this.
I wish for you happiness. Smiles. Life and warmth. And for pain to be the propellant of healing.
But first, my dear friend—grieve. Grieve hard. Grieve deep. And when it becomes unbearable, make a new choice; preferably, let the light back in.
And I will do my best to remember: Every soul chooses its own path. Every soul deserves acceptance. Even when I don’t understand their choices. Even beyond death, life continues, in all its strange, autonomous ways.
That is kindness, too.
And yet, I don’t know how much room I have left for this doom and gloom.
And that scares me.
Because to you, it will feel like I do not love you.
And that will amplify your pain. Again.
***
Let’s go Beyond,
∞ Tini ∞
For my readers:
If you require relief from grief, the following books are the softness you need. They lend you a hand in exploring our understanding of existence and give various interpretations of the ‘afterlife’.
TEAM, HERE WE NEED THE LINKS:
Support Services:
If you’re seeking immediate support to cope with overwhelming loss, here are some Dutch helplines you can contact:
- De Luisterlijn – the Netherlands: Offers 24/7 confidential support for various issues, including grief and loss. You can reach them at 088 0767 000 https://www.deluisterlijn.nl/
- Tele-Onthaal – Belgium: Offers 24/7 confidential listening for various issues, including grief and loss. You can reach them at 106. Also available for chat at https://www.tele-onthaal.be/
- Griefshare – international, here you can find a grief recovery support group where you can find help and healing for the hurt of losing a loved one. https://www.griefshare.org/findagroup
Grief and Support Helplines: Grief is a profound and personal experience, and sometimes, having someone to talk to can make all the difference, but if you’re wary just as I am that you can also can get stuck in someone else’s grief, then below are resources, that provide support for those dealing with loss and overwhelming emotions. If one loves another, often one wants to help, but there a several ways to facilitate that. Not just one that is thé path.
If you or someone you know is struggling with grief, loss, or overwhelming emotions, these helplines and organizations can provide guidance, support, and a listening ear.
