After My Mother’s Funeral, Her Cat Disappeared — Then Returned on Christmas Eve
Inside her warm kitchen, over tea and gentle conversation, I finally let myself grieve out loud. She listened without interruption, sharing her own story of loss, reminding me that grief doesn’t disappear—it changes shape and slowly makes room for connection again. We spent Christmas Eve together, not as strangers, but as two people who understood sorrow and kindness in equal measure. When I returned home with Cole beside me, I finished decorating the tree and placed the glass ornament where my mother always did. The house was still quiet, but it no longer felt empty. It felt full—of love, memory, and the quiet understanding that sometimes healing finds us in unexpected ways, guiding us gently back toward life when we need it most.
