Originally published on Notes from the In-Between — now archived here for those who prefer to read between the lines.
Rupert, Lucia and the light that stays
A year ago on December 12, 2024, my Ragdoll cat, Rupert, died.
It was the day before Lucia – Sweden’s festival of light.
Every December, Lucia arrives with candles carried through the dark – a reminder that we don’t walk winter alone.
And last year, just before that turn of the season, Rupert left the earth. We’d been inseparable for more than 14 years and I was with him when he turned into starlight.
He was my guardian and my best friend. Through challenges, changes, and adventures, he was the constant in our home. He was the one who made it feel like home in the first place.
And when I came home from the animal hospital, holding his empty carrier in my hands, the house felt so quiet and empty – even though it was full of life.
As this first anniversary approached, I kept feeling that familiar nudge – the one he always gave me when it was time to sit down, breathe, or stop pretending I was fine.
A year on – what doesn’t dim
People say time heals, but some things don’t need healing. Grief doesn’t vanish; you learn to live alongside it in a different way. And it’s perfectly OK to talk about them. I do, often.
Rupert wasn’t “just a cat.” He was a companion who arrived at exactly the right moment and rearranged my life for the better.
He did a lot of things in stealth mode. Somehow he made me braver and more thoughtful. He showed me when it was time to stay, and when it was time to leave.
He grounded my anxious mind simply by being there – generally at arm’s length, occasionally by sitting on my head. Rupert did things on his terms, not mine. Another one of his lessons.
He held space when I didn’t know how to do that for myself.
He helped me heal, and he taught me the meaning of unconditional love.
When he died the day before Lucia, it felt symbolic – light leaving before the celebration of light. I was heartbroken for weeks, and it felt as if the sadness wouldn’t stop.
But I learned that his light didn’t really leave. It just moved somewhere else. You could say he’s also in the In-Between – that place where time and space don’t behave as they do here. He’s free to come and go as he pleases, without too much fuss.
A year on, things have shifted. I had to learn what it meant to grieve, to give myself permission to move through it in my own time. Writing helped – especially at the beginning. I wrote down the stories that made me smile. I made a photo book that sits on the coffee table.
Rupert continues to teach me, and those lessons shape how I guide myself – and how I guide others.
And this is what I’ve learned in the months since:
Some lights don’t go out.
They change form – and begin to shine from within you.
Welcoming new life again
Rupert also had one final lesson for us: how to welcome again. He guided us to a new kitten, Alva. She was born the week before my daughter’s birthday, and when we brought her home, she settled in immediately.
She isn’t a replacement – she has her own energy and presence – but it feels right to have a cat in the house again. And that, too, has been a lesson.
A small moment for today
Lucia teaches us that light doesn’t have to be bright.
It only has to be present.
“The night treads heavily
around yards and dwellings.In places unreached by sun,
the shadows brood.Into our dark house she comes,
bearing lighted candles –
Saint Lucia, Saint Lucia.”– Sankta Lucia, traditional Swedish song (English translation)
And sometimes, when that light feels faint or far away, it helps to have someone who can steady it with you – or illuminate the corners you haven’t quite been able to look at alone.
And if all you can manage is something small, that counts too.
A gentle note
If this finds you in your own season of loss, change, or reflection, I hope something here offers you a bit of warmth to hold onto.
If you are called for a North Star Session, you can find more information here.
If you’re not sure where to start, complete this short quiz to help you learn where you are between fog and clarity and which North Star offering will support you best.
Originally filed from the In-Between on December 12, 2025
Subscribe and be the first to read
Want to receive the next dispatch directly?