How To Let Go: What Ernie Taught Me In His Last Moments

One year ago, my cat taught me the most important lesson of my life:

How to let go

Yesterday marked exactly one year from when I had to let go of my soul cat.

One year where I got to feel real grief, figure out who I am, what I really want - and where I started to see my life from a completely different point of view. But most of all: a full year where I had to learn the real meaning and the power of letting go.

What happened

A bit over a year ago, one of our cats - who had previously suddenly lost his sister a couple of months before due to a car accident - started not eating, showing signs of significant pain and being down in the dumps. When we went to the vet, he couldn't find anything. Until after a week or so we decided to go to an animal hospital with equipment for scans.

The result: cancer. Not just a tad bit - but a lot of it. Everywhere. In his lymphs, his intestines… basically everywhere you could think of. Prognosis was about a month, if we were extremely lucky 2-3 months if the meds worked and gave him some pain relief.

What followed were some of the most intimate yet hard weeks of my life. We had to watch our 3-year-old cat go through extreme pain and degenerate slowly. Not mentally, but physically. You could see how he badly wanted to explore, see things for the last time - and simultaneously watch him struggle to get up the steps so he could see the upper floor, lie in every room just one more time. Taking his time going everywhere. Not really accepting any help, because he wanted to make it himself.

We had a session with an amazing animal communicator so we could have one more conversation with him, unfiltered, and learn of his wishes and anything he wanted to tell us before he went away.

It's honestly kind of a blur - but the one message that really stuck with me was this:

"Life is too short not to go for the things that make you happy." - Ernie

And he was right.

Until that moment, I never really went all in on something I believed in, something that I knew could in the end make me really happy. I always kind of dipped my toes in and then pulled out again. Or behaved like a turtle: stretching my head out of the shell just to see how amazing the world could be - and then retreating instantly. Going back into my shell.

Why letting go is harder than we think

Every day I told him: Ernie, it's okay if you want to go. We'll be okay — I'll be okay. 

But he didn't leave. And a friend of mine, who works as a medium, told me why:

"Yeah, you might be saying that… but you don't mean it."

Deep down, I had to admit to myself - I didn't really The was the one who always understood me, who stood by my side no matter what, who always came to me when I needed him - even if I didn't know I actually needed him to be there. We just clicked.

Yet here we were: me facing an impossible situation, and him literally waiting for me to let him go - because all he wanted was to be reunited with his sister.

And yet I was holding on too tightly. Because I couldn't imagine a world where he wasn't in it.

The morning he left

One evening I just knew this would be the last evening we got to spend together. I made him promise to tell me when he was about to go the next day.

And he did.

He waited until around 8am that Sunday morning until he woke me up. We went outside — his wish — and went to his sister's grave in our garden. There he laid down. I sat down beside him, just stroking him, telling him it's okay to leave. It's okay to go.

But he didn't let go. And I remembered what my friend had told me: He's just waiting for me to give him permission. For me to let go of him, so he could do what he needed to do.

I started meditating. I regulated my breath, I connected with him - and was instantly in a place where an angel waited for us, together with his sister.

The first time I tried it, nothing changed. And this time I finally understood why: I had been trying to only let go of him consciously, doing whatever was best for him - without really listening to what was happening inside me. How I was feeling about this whole situation. What this would ultimately do to me. I was trying to bypass my emotions.

Which, I believe, was kind of the whole point.

So I felt it all. The pain, the grief, the sadness. And what it would feel like if he stayed - if I had to watch another hour of him trying to hold on, his body giving out on him. Once I let myself feel everything, I imagined him going over to the other side, being with his sister, having fun as they ran around fields, played together and reconnected deeply.

And I knew I'd be okay.

I gave him over. Bit by bit, I saw his form turning from physical into something made of light. When I pulled my hands away he was being carried by the angel. By that time he was pure light, looking peacefully back at me. Happy. Then he took off with his sister, having a race among the fields.

Once I opened my eyes again, I knew he wasn't with us anymore. I told my mom - who was outside with me - that he was gone. And as I said it, he took his last couple of breaths. By the time we made it back inside, it was around 9.30am. The whole process hadn't lasted longer than an hour and a half.

What this taught me: The 5 steps to actually let go

This whole experience taught me a great deal. And one of the biggest things was this: letting go is not something you can fake, rush, or logic your way through.

From that moment on, I not only knew I was able to let go — I also knew how to do it.

Every time I follow these five steps, I'm able to let go on all levels:

1. Acknowledge the situation for what it is. No sugarcoating. I need to see the facts, know what I want to let go of on every level - otherwise I'll miss a part of it.

2. Actually feel what this situation is doing to me. All the feelings. Without pushing them away. Seeing them, feeling them, integrating them. This step cannot be skipped.

3. Feel into what happens if I keep carrying this. How does it feel to keep holding on? And how does it feel to actually let go - what would change, what could happen? My body needs something specific here, otherwise it won't feel safe enough to release.

4. Check in with your body. Is there a specific body part involved? Does that part need something from me in order to let go - shaking, moving, doing something specific?

5. Let go - in whatever way feels right. I like to meditate, call in an angel or someone who wants to help me, and literally hand this thing over. Watch it turn into light. Sometimes I give the situation a name - 'the Max-situation' - so I know exactly what I'm releasing. Sometimes I write it on a piece of paper and burn it. Sometimes I shake it out of my body. Step 5 can look however it needs to look, as long as steps 1–4 actually happened first.

How you know you've truly let go

There's this feeling in the air every time I let go of something.

It's a peaceful feeling - one I don't feel that often. It makes me elated, grounded, happy. Joyous. Just grateful for having been allowed to experience this situation and learn from it.

It can't be faked. You'll know once it's there.

Am I a master at letting go? Absolutely not. I need to actively sit myself down and go through this whole process rather than just releasing things in the moment. But I'm learning.

Yesterday, one year ago, sent me on this entire path of learning how to let go properly. And I am so grateful I didn't just bypass this opportunity, this gift, but took it and learned something from it.

Do I wish our cat wouldn't have had to go through so much pain? Of course. But in the way he went, he gave me so many gifts. And I'd be stupid not to be grateful for each and every single one of them.

If something came up for you while reading this - something you've been holding onto a little too tightly - I'd love to hear about it. And if you want to go deeper into this work, join me on my next Loving Yourself Circle.