How often do we come full circle and face the things we once wanted to escape? For me, that thing was 'death' and, most specifically, the grieving of the death of a loved one. I had no life experience of it, so, at age 32, it broke my world.

Shortly after that time, I met Zak. Initially we clashed, but they do say the souls recognise each other. For me this was a case of rejection at first sight. Zak could see what I could not and was persistent; I give him that.

So why am I talking about Zak today? Well, yesterday I went to visit him. Let me give you a back story before I move on. A few weeks back, in Zak-like style, he called me. I expected some banter, lots of abruptness, a bit of abuse and plenty of care. I got all that and much more. Once we had exchanged salaams, he told me he had two months to live. No preamble, no softness, just there you go. This was Zak to a T. He explained his cancer had returned and refused treatment as he did not want to go down that route again. He also told me what had led him to make that decision. It was a brief call, but Zak was content to meet his Lord. I couldn't say I understood that from an unconscious heart state, but the conscious logical mind understood it.

I, on the other hand, went into denial. I wanted him to call me and say it was an April Fool's joke. I visualised him calling me and saying ‘duh, joking ... just wanted to see if you cared’. Zak often reminded me of a time I had asked for space. And for two years, I did not speak to him, and that hurt. I wanted this to be his revenge for that. Anything was acceptable, just not death.

At first, I didn't realise I was in denial; I was telling those close to me how amazing he was for going so contently. But once my Ramadan Consciousness kicked in, I knew I was in denial. There was a storm brewing inside of me that needed to be released. Conversations with God that needed to be had. I had no words though.

I used my coaching tools to create space for awareness of how I was feeling, and on the 27 Ramadan, I took to the prayer mat. I sat and wept like a baby; I fell asleep there. I wanted Allah to allow me to accept what was happening. Logically I understood death was a union of those departed. The deceased was more powerful than in this world. There was no barrier, and the sacred connections got stronger. But I was also human, and my human side was in pain. I wanted to feel the sweetness and pain side by side. So, I turned to Allah, aligning my conscious (mind) and unconscious (heart) and sat in deep prayer. ‘Allah, allow me to accept your decree with grace and serenity’, I asked.

The release of emotions gave me space to reflect and begin the process of acceptance and love. It allowed me to ask for more. I asked Allah to grant me time to put right all my affairs before I went. ‘Give me two months to clear my scales’ I said, so I could go to him as lightly as possible.

A few days later, I spoke to Zak to arrange to meet him. I was so overwhelmed with my emotions I could not talk. All I wanted him to know was I grateful he was my friend. Zak asked me to write him a letter about how I felt. This was typical Zak style, as one of the first tasks he gave me was to do a brain-dumping letter when we first met. I tried to write this letter, but it needed to be more profound and raw. I would do it again, but for now, this was enough. So I visited Zak with this letter, and a stick we picked up from our nature walk back in 2014. I wanted to give it to him a sign of hope to hold on to. I had charged it with heart energy and positive intentions and wanted him to use it as an anchor and to return it after he had moved onto the other realm.

I prepared myself to be strong and to contain my emotions. Zak had asked me to come with an open heart and take the pearls offered. He was more than a mentor for me. Sometimes he behaved like he was my dad, and other times a favourite Uncle, and on occasion, an overprotective brother but always departing pearls.

As we sat in his office, it was bare. Gone were the postcards and the pictures. A notice board with hospital appointments and odd post-it note to remind him of who was coming. He suffered from memory loss too. He called it his cancer brain. We sat down to talk. He asked me to let go of the tight grip and say how I felt. Ironically, the man who helped me take the first step in grieving death was the man I was before; this time grieving his death. He shared his reasoning for refusing treatment and asked if I had listened to his podcast. I explained I had listened to some of it but I was pacing myself.

So we did what we always did. We discussed divine light. The desire to be connected to Allah. Zak asked me to let go of the anxiety and allow myself to cry. And the tears started rolling. He asked me what I was holding on to and what was I fearing. I wished we had longer so we could explore more. He was prominent in my journey to Allah, usually as a mirror and trigger. And that was ok, as that is where I needed to be healed.

I wanted to record everything he said, but Zak wanted me to learn the Sufi art of being still and allow the pearls to go into my unconscious mind so I could retrieve them whenever I needed them. Despite the initial resistance, I let go. He was right; I could never get my breath back once it was released or a blink or a tear shed. Why was I trying to hold on to him? The soul connection would still be there regardless of the illusions of this world that made it seem like I would never see him again.

Zak explained how he was grateful to be leaving with a free heart. I asked about friends he had been rejected by and if they had reached out. I felt relief knowing they had. Zak wondered why I asked. I wanted him to go knowing he was loved and whatever perceived hurt that had occurred, he was free from it all. He told me he was already free as he had no attachment or reason for this world. He wanted to be with the Divine light that awaited him.

Any interaction with Zak would be a metaphorical battering; there was one there yesterday. But I was free. I had gone expecting to see a frail older man and the old me who could not phantom the pain of death. Yet I finally understood the price of loving and caring for someone meant pain, and there was a sweetness in that one could not explain. It was unveiled when one was ready.

The question for me now is how I will process my emotions as things progress. Losing a loved one is one of the hardest things anyone can go through. To help me process my grief and emotions, I turned to Conscious Coaching tools and techniques. I can better understand the impact my friend has had on me and how this loss affected me. By journaling my thoughts and feelings and using my trauma-release methods, I am able to identify patterns and gain insight into my own emotions. While there is no quick fix for the pain of losing someone, my coaching tools have been an essential part of my grieving process and have helped me navigate this difficult time.