Staring at my aunt’s open coffin, I was paralyzed by her sudden departure.

How does someone who has been there your whole life disappear overnight?

I sat in the exact same chair a year ago for her mother’s funeral. Losing them both so quickly has been heartbreaking, but it has also been revealing.

On my way to the village that day, I felt my chest tightening; I just couldn’t breathe. When I reached the road with the white memorial ribbons leading to her home, my throat went completely closed.

Seeing her lifeless in her coffin broke my heart. I couldn’t hold back the tears as my mind flooded with memories of our past together: I reminisced about my childhood with her. I replayed the audio messages she recorded for me when I gave birth to my son. I couldn’t stop thinking about her jokes and the rough texture of her voice—which we will never hear again.

Through my tears and memories, I released what was sitting on my chest. I thought my heart was closing, but it opened up beautifully. In just four years, we lost my grandma, grandpa, and aunt. We survived two wars and nearly lost everything when our business burned to the ground.

It’s been a period of heavy loss, but also one of deep revelations. I’ve been trying to let go for a while now. Life keeps proving to me how pointless it is to control everything. But that day, looking at my aunt’s coffin, the need to control faded away completely, giving way to a deep sense of calm and relief.

I surrender.

Sometimes I wonder if we need great losses to teach us how to truly live. Loss, even though it’s shattering, opens our hearts to the truth—if we let it. I could have become jaded that day. Those deaths could have crushed me, but instead, I let them crack my heart wide open.

That tightening was an opening in disguise. It was telling me to live my life—not constantly micromanage it. We frequently over-control every aspect of our day—from our routines and careers to our relationships and health. But the truth is we can’t control everything. Micromanaging creates unnecessary stress and steals our joyful moments.

Accepting life’s uncontrollable nature is a deep Buddhist philosophy I learned almost a decade ago. But when life happens and stress takes over, we lose touch with the profound lessons we once learned. Yet, these lessons return when we endure the loss of a loved one. The now, then, becomes urgent; it becomes nonnegotiable.

“Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it.” ~ Haruki Murakami

The question that keeps cropping up in my mind is: how do I choose to show up for this present moment?

I want to slow down.

I want to spend it with the ones I love.

I want to embrace every moment, even if it’s agonizing.

I want to manage my nervous system.

I want to craft the best, happiest days for my family.

I want to release the past and move on.

I want to prioritize kindness and empathy.

I want to live with fewer regrets.

I want to simply be.

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