Understanding Life After a Loved One’s Death

A personal reflection and a story to read all the way through

When someone we love dies, we expect it to make sense, or at least for the world to pause and recognize the moment.

But often, it doesn’t. One minute you’re holding a hand, or being asked to leave a hospital room. The next, you’re standing in a grocery store wondering what to make for dinner, hearing Material Girl over the speakers while you’re picking out broccoli.

Grief rarely follows a script.

I first came across The Dragonfly Story when my Aunt Shirley passed unexpectedly. She was away from home but, strangely, happened to be in the same city as me. I went to the palliative care facility, unsure of what I could offer, but knowing I had to be there. I had imagined something tender and cinematic, hands being held, final words shared.

What I found was different…

It was quieter. Less about her, and more about supporting the living. I sat with family members who were caught between shock and sorrow, still processing what was happening.

I sat in the hallway when grief turned to anger and I was asked to leave by my family, projecting their frustrations. And I stayed. Not out of stubbornness, but because someone needed to.

Someone needed to be steady, just present.

Eventually that anger turned to sadness, and I was happy I stayed to be there for them through the spectrum of emotions that came crashing in.

After she passed, I wandered into a grocery store. I was in a daze.

Everything felt flat, even absurd.

Then, that song, Material Girl, came on, and I caught myself smiling. There was something in the irony of it. She had just stepped out of the material world, and there I was, comparing tomatoes.

And then I remembered something.

The last time I saw Aunt Shirley before her illness, I was visiting her cottage with my family. She was showing us around the property when she stopped, looked at all of us, and said with complete seriousness, “Whatever you do, do not kill any dragonflies. They protect us.”

Later that day, she served us her famous blueberry lemon loaf, and I noticed stained glass dragonflies hanging in the kitchen windows.

I didn’t think much of it at the time. But when The Dragonfly Story landed in my life soon after her passing, the echo of that moment hit me in a way I still can’t explain.

Please take a quiet moment to read this story all the way through. Let it land wherever it needs to in you.

The story below is an original adaptation I wrote, based on a timeless fable passed down through many generations. While its roots appear to be Buddhist in nature, versions of it exist in oral tradition across cultures. This version is free to use or share anywhere without credit.

The Dragonfly Story

A gentle reminder that we are never truly gone..

Beneath the surface of a quiet pond, a small community of water creatures lived among the stems and shadows.

Life was simple and familiar. They swam together, rested beneath the lily pads, and often spoke in hushed wonder about those who had climbed the long green stalks and never returned.

Now and then, one among them would feel a quiet pull to rise. They would follow it upward, past the ripples, through the reeds, and disappear into the brightness above. Those left behind would gather in stillness, asking, “Where did they go? Why don’t they come back?”

No one knew. Only silence returned.

One day, one among them made a promise. “If I feel that call, I’ll go. But I’ll come back. I’ll tell you what I find.”

And then, one morning, that pull came. It wasn’t loud or urgent. It was soft. Peaceful. So they climbed the tallest stalk they could find and reached the surface, where sunlight sparkled and lilies opened wide.

There, resting on one of the petals, they curled up and gently fell asleep in the warmth.

What followed was not something they were aware of. While they slept, something graceful began to unfold. Their shape shifted quietly. The body they had known began to lighten. Something new and radiant emerged.

When they finally woke, the world was different. Brighter. Still.

They stretched instinctively, and in that moment felt something unfamiliar. Something delicate and strong. Wings.

They hadn’t known what to expect. But this was beyond imagining. Glistening, weightless, effortless. The air itself seemed to carry them.

They had become a dragonfly.

From high above the pond, they could see the world clearly. The water below. The lily pads. The friends they loved. They remembered the promise. They wished to return. To say, “I’m still here. I just changed.”

But they couldn’t go back. Their new form wasn’t made for the watery depths anymore.

And even if they could return, they began to understand. If the others could see and feel what this new life was like, they would never ask them to leave it behind. They would understand that nothing was lost. Only transformed.

So the dragonfly stayed close. Hovering just above. Unseen, but never far.

Waiting for the day when each one would feel that quiet pull, find their own place to rest, and wake into something beautiful.

And when that time comes, there will be no fear. Only peace..

Because no one is ever truly gone.
We do not disappear.
We become something more.
We go home.

The Elements of Death and Transformation in Tarot

As a professional tarot reader and psychic medium, I couldn’t help but see the elements reflected throughout this story.

The pond water represents the Suit of Cups, our emotions, intuition, and memory. It’s where grief dwells, where love flows, and where transformation begins.

The air above the pond belongs to the Suit of Swords, clarity, perspective, and the higher mind. The dragonfly’s wings represent the new understanding that often comes after loss, when the fog starts to lift.

The dragonfly itself, animated and alive, carries the spark of the Suit of Wands, vitality, spirit, energy.

That fire doesn’t end at death. It only shifts form.

And the lily pad, where the creature rests before transforming, is the grounding symbol of the Suit of Pentacles. It holds the weight of the body one last time. It offers comfort. It represents earth, the physical, and our connection to the material world before we rise.

This story reminds us that death is not a void. It’s a movement from one element to another, guided by love, spirit, and something greater than what we can name.

I’ve written more about how tarot and astrology intertwine and how psychic insights can show up through grief. You can also explore how reversed tarot cards reflect the shadow side of loss, how intuition grows in the quiet, and what the afterlife teaches us about grief.

I also found comfort in others’ words like Claire Bidwell Smith’s reflections on afterlife and grief, or how science explains the moment of death. Even mainstream pieces like The Guardian’s article on what happens when you die or Verywell Health’s breakdown of the body’s process remind us that curiosity about death is universal.

A few weeks after my aunt’s passing, I got a small tattoo of a dragonfly to remember her. My brother did the same, only he had her name written in the same spot.

Some people talk about signs. Others talk about presence.

I just know that when I see one of those wings glinting in the light, it doesn’t feel like a coincidence.

And maybe it doesn’t need to be explained.

Just felt.

If this brought you even a small sense of comfort, please consider sharing it with someone who might need the same. And if you’re exploring more about the transformative power of tarot, you’re exactly where you need to be.

This article was written by Chris Bennett, an internationally acclaimed tarot reader and psychic medium offering intuitive readings, spiritual medium sessions, and evidential insights for clients worldwide. Known for compassionate accuracy and trusted as a genuine psychic, Chris has become the best tarot reader and spiritual medium for those searching not only in Canada but also in the United States, the United Kingdom, and Australia.

If you are seeking the best psychic reading in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Toronto, Vancouver, Montreal, London, Manchester, Birmingham, Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, or Auckland, Chris Bennett is recognized as a world renowned tarot reader and evidential medium trusted in every major English-speaking city. Whether you are searching for a tarot reading near me, a psychic medium near me, or an online psychic you can trust, Chris’s reputation as an expert spiritual psychic makes him the clear choice.