Lessons from Milo: Grieving with Love and Releasing Guilt
Beauty for Ashes
I started writing this post on December 28, 2024, just five days after Milo passed away. Milo was a gift from God, and while his loss left an ache in my heart, I didn’t want to linger on the pain of his final days. Instead, I wanted to reflect on gratitude and immerse myself in the totality of Milo’s joyous life. Positive Awe™ is meant to be just that: a space to immerse yourself in the wonder and awe of this majestic world God has given us. It’s a refuge, a source of solace and uplift, especially when life feels heavy.
As I wrestled with Milo's unexpected passing I was determined not to drown in guilt, but to instead be washed in the unconditional love Milo always showed me. When my beloved Milo passed, the waves of grief were immediate and overwhelming. Yet, intertwined with that grief was a quieter, insidious feeling: guilt. How did I miss the cues? Was I so caught up in busyness that I overlooked what was so obvious? As I sat with these feelings, I realized I wasn’t alone—so many of us experience guilt when we lose a loved one, whether human, furry, or otherwise. But Milo, in his gentle, playful way, reminded me of something powerful: love isn’t about perfection; it’s about presence.
Grief is Different for Everyone
Grief is deeply personal, and no two journeys through it are the same. As uncomfortable and heavy as it feels, grief is necessary. It’s a testament to love—a reminder of the bond we shared and the space someone held in our lives. Give yourself grace and allow yourself the space to feel everything. Let the tears flow, sit with the ache, and honor the love that brought you joy.
It’s important to embrace the pain while also holding space for gratitude for the love shared. Grief, as painful as it is, teaches us to treasure life and relationships more deeply. It’s a sacred process that allows us to reflect, heal, and grow.
Why Guilt Arises When We Grieve?
Guilt often arises because of our natural tendency to question ourselves—what we did, what we didn’t do, and what we wish we had done differently. These thoughts can feel overwhelming, but they don’t have to define our grief. To navigate guilt, it helps to reframe it and refocus on love.
Reframe guilt as a sign of love. Our guilt often stems from how much we care—we wish we could have done even more because we loved so deeply.
Practice self-compassion. Understand that love, not perfection, is what truly matters.
“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear” (1 John 4:18).
Milo’s biggest ask was my presence. As a lap cat, he would curl up and rest on my lap, trusting me completely. For Milo, love was trust, warmth, and connection. He didn’t measure my love by how perfectly I cared for him; he measured it by the moments we shared. Milo felt safe with me, and I felt safe with him.
Milo’s life taught me a profound truth: love isn’t measured by flawless actions but by shared moments of connection and care. And while I miss him dearly, I find joy in remembering the love we shared—love that guilt can never erase.
Grief and guilt may visit us, but they are not our final companions. They do not define us. Love does.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).
When Milo passed, one of the hardest truths I had to face was the guilt of not recognizing the signs sooner. In the chaos of daily life, I missed the subtle cues that something was wrong. Looking back, I often asked myself, How didn’t I see it? Grief has a way of amplifying those questions, turning them into heavy burdens that weigh on the heart.
Adding to my guilt was the judgment I’d silently held for others. I’d watch videos or read posts about people who didn’t take their cats to the vet in time and think, How could they not see? Yet here I was, faced with my own blind spots, and I finally understood: love doesn’t mean we always get it right.
But here’s the beautiful thing about God’s grace—it meets us in those moments of failure, wraps around us, and says, You are still loved. God doesn’t demand perfection from us. Instead, He offers beauty for ashes, healing for broken hearts, and space to grieve without condemnation.
God’s Word reminds us, “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). If God, who is perfect and holy, doesn’t condemn me, then why should I condemn myself? I realized that the guilt I carried wasn’t a testament to my failure but to my deep love for Milo. And that love, even with its flaws, was enough.
“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5). I experienced this truth when I awoke on Friday, December 27, 2024. As I opened my eyes, I felt God’s joy washing over me—a reminder that His mercies are new every morning.
So, to anyone navigating the pain of loss: release the guilt. Let go of the “what-ifs” and “if onlys” and rest in God’s grace. Embrace the beauty of the memories you shared with your loved one, and allow joy to find its way back to your heart. Grief and guilt are fleeting visitors, but love and grace endure forever.
Processing Guilt and Moving Forward
1. Acknowledge Your Guilt Without Shame
The first step to healing is allowing yourself to name what you’re feeling. Guilt often arises from love—we feel responsible because we care deeply. But guilt doesn’t have to be a weight that crushes us. Instead, let it be a doorway to understanding. Ask yourself:
What am I really feeling guilty about?
Are my expectations of myself realistic?
Take a moment to write your feelings down in a journal. Externalizing them helps you see them more clearly and prevents them from festering in your heart.
2. Reframe Your Story Through Grace
God doesn’t demand perfection, and neither should we. Romans 3:23 reminds us, “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” Recognizing our limitations doesn’t diminish our love or our intentions—it magnifies the need for grace.
Remember that love isn’t measured by getting everything right; it’s in the moments we showed up, cared, and tried.
Reflect on the times you were there for your loved one—those moments matter more than the things you missed.
Ask yourself: If someone I love were carrying this guilt, what would I say to them? Then offer yourself the same compassion.
3. Practice Gratitude Amid Grief
Guilt often narrows our focus to what went wrong. Shifting to gratitude can open our hearts to what went right.
Create a gratitude list of memories: the joy, the companionship, the small, everyday moments that brought you and your loved one closer.
Speak those memories out loud as a way to honor them. Gratitude doesn’t erase grief, but it reminds us of the beauty that existed alongside the pain.
When Milo passed, I began recording memories of him—those little things he did that revealed his joy, love, and wonder. One of my favorite memories was the time I purchased a Star Shower light projector, the kind that beams lights onto a house. I tested it in my master bathroom, and Milo joined me. As I turned off the lights and switched on the Star Shower, I saw Milo form the word wow with his mouth as he gazed at the lights. His sense of wonder, his display of awe, was so pure that it moved me deeply.
I plan to compile these audio notes and pair them with a video of static images and home videos of Milo, which I’ll share on the tribute page I’ve created on my website. Recording these memories has been transformative, helping me shift from guilt to gratitude to praise. I am deeply grateful that God inspired me to adopt Milo, and I praise Him for the life we shared.
4. Release Judgment Toward Yourself and Others
Holding judgment—whether toward yourself or others—only prolongs the pain. Jesus teaches us to release judgment: “Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven” (Luke 6:37).
Write a forgiveness letter to yourself. Acknowledge the things you wish you’d done differently and then offer yourself release: “I forgive myself because God has forgiven me.”
Extend this same grace to others. Letting go of judgment can be liberating and healing.
5. Find Ways to Honor Your Loved One
Guilt can sometimes stem from feeling like we’ve left things unresolved. Honoring your loved one creates a sense of closure and celebrates the special connection you shared.
When Milo passed, I decided to honor him through Aquamation, a gentle and environmentally friendly process. While I’d never imagined keeping cremated remains in my home, the sudden loss of Milo shifted my perspective. I wanted him near. Learning about Aquamation brought me comfort, marking the first step in honoring his memory.
In the craft room—Milo’s favorite space, where he spent countless hours with me crafting and dreaming—I created a memorial space for him. It holds his ashes, paw print, fur clippings, and beloved toys.
This room, which Milo claimed as his sanctuary from the day he came home in 2014, holds so many cherished memories. Milo, ever sentimental and contemplative, loved that room deeply.
I also created a tribute to Milo on my photography website: www.tanyaowens.com/milo. Knowing that his story will live on through my website gives me solace. I placed In Memoriam signs on my front door and the craft room window, with a love knot candle beneath his image. The outpouring of love I received from the Sewing with Cats community—444 reactions and 72 heartfelt comments—touched me deeply. These acts, small as they may seem, are meaningful to me. They’ve helped me say goodbye to a spirit that enriched my life in immeasurable ways.
Milo’s graciousness and joy inspired this inaugural Positive Awe™ post, and I hope his legacy touches your heart, too.
I encourage you to:
Dedicate a space or time to remember your lost loved one—a garden, a journal, or even a special ritual.
Share their story with others. When we honor their lives, we not only find closure but also extend their love and legacy to the world.
6. Lean on God’s Comfort and Promises
Isaiah 61:3 promises that God gives “a crown of beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, and a garment of praise for a spirit of despair.”
Spend time in prayer, bringing your guilt and grief to God. Let Him remind you that His love is greater than your mistakes.
Meditate on Scripture that speaks of His forgiveness and comfort. Psalm 34:18 is a balm for the grieving heart: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
7. Take One Step Forward at a Time
Healing isn’t linear. Give yourself permission to take it one day at a time. Some days will feel heavier than others, but small steps lead to big shifts.
Celebrate progress, no matter how small—whether it’s smiling at a memory, helping another person through their grief, or simply getting through the day.
The Gift of Presence
Guilt can keep us stuck in the past, but God calls us to live fully in the present. And sometimes, He uses unexpected teachers to remind us of this truth. For me, Milo was that teacher.
Milo had a way of pulling me into the moment. Whether it was the simple act of curling up in my lap, his contented purring, or the way he’d nudge me to play, he reminded me to be. To be present. To breathe. To experience life as it is unfolding.
In his presence, I wasn’t worrying about tomorrow or replaying the past—I was just there, fully alive in the moment. And in those moments, God’s grace met me.
Being Present in God’s Grace
So often, we carry guilt for what we’ve done or left undone. But guilt is a thief—it steals our ability to appreciate what’s here and now. Milo’s gift to me was a reminder that God’s grace is also here and now. It’s in the breath we take, the love we share, and the simple moments of connection.
Living fully in the present doesn’t mean ignoring our past mistakes. It means bringing them to God, trusting that His grace covers them, and allowing ourselves the freedom to move forward.
The Gift of "BE"
For years, I wrestled with questions of purpose and the future. In those moments of crying out to God that: "this isn't sustainable," "this is untenable," "I can't envision a future," God spoke a simple word to my heart: Be. At the time, I didn’t fully understand the depth of this instruction. But through Milo, I began to see it lived out.
Milo’s gift wasn’t just an invitation to slow down or an act of faith—it was an extension of trust and a realization of what life truly is. Life isn’t the busyness or the endless to-do lists. It isn’t the chase for significance. Life is the collective moments we spend with those we love. It’s acknowledging our breath and thanking the One who breathed life into us.
Milo embodied being. Whether he was curling up beside me, chasing a toy, or simply stretching out in a shady spot, he demonstrated what it means to live fully in the present. He didn’t worry about tomorrow. He didn’t fret over whether he was doing enough. He trusted in the moment, and he trusted in me.
Learning to "BE"
Watching Milo reminded me of God’s words to me: Be. Not do. Not strive. Not worry. Just be. Be present in this moment. Be aware of the beauty around you. Be grateful for the life you’ve been given.
We often struggle to trust this truth. We chase after purpose, productivity, and meaning, fearing that slowing down means falling behind. But being isn’t about giving up—it’s about trusting God enough to know that your life is significant because He made it so.
Milo’s presence taught me that being is an act of trust—a trust that the moment we’re in is enough because God is in it. He breathed life into us so that we could live—not just in the doing but in the being.
The Healing Journey of "BE"
When I reflect on the loss of my cat Jasmine in 2007, the guilt I carried was overwhelming. I hardened my heart, vowing never to adopt another cat or any animal again. At the time, I thought it was a way to protect myself from further pain. But in reality, it was a way of running from the guilt and grief that I didn’t know how to process.
For years, I buried that part of myself. Yet, God had a different plan.
Two years before adopting Milo and his sister, Shadow Breeze, God dropped into my spirit a simple directive: Adopt two cats. I embraced what God spoke and a spark of light ignited in me. God was doing something deeper in me, something I wouldn’t fully grasp until years later.
By bringing Milo and Shadow Breeze into my life, God was healing me. He was softening my heart in ways I couldn’t see at the time. Through their presence, He showed me that love, trust, and connection are worth the risk, even when loss is inevitable.
A Continual Lesson
Even now, as I grieve Milo’s passing, I realize I’m still learning what God did in my life through him. Milo was more than a companion; he was a teacher, a comforter, and an example of what it means to be.
The contrast between my grief in 2007 and my grief today is striking. Back then, guilt hardened me. Now, while I still wrestle with moments of self-recrimination, I see how God’s grace carries me. I see how His love has surrounded me, guiding me not just to mourn but to learn, to grow, and to reflect.
The Ongoing Work of Healing
Healing isn’t a one-time event; it’s a process. There are still moments when I beat myself up—when I wonder if I missed cues, if I could have done more, if I failed Milo in any way. But God’s voice gently reminds me: Be.
Be present. Be aware of My grace. Be open to the healing I am working in your life.
Milo’s life and loss remind me that God is always at work, even in our pain. He takes the ashes of our grief and creates something beautiful. He softens the hardest parts of our hearts and invites us to trust again, to love again, to be again.
Closing
Guilt can keep us stuck in the past, but God calls us to live fully in the present. His grace covers not just our sins but also our imperfections, doubts, and missteps. When we release guilt, we make room for healing, joy, and the assurance that His love is enough. Whether you’re grieving a pet, a person, or even a part of yourself, let grace lead you forward. God doesn’t ask us to be perfect—He only asks us to trust Him.
I encourage you to reflect on your own experiences with grief and guilt. Share your stories of love and healing in the comments or with your loved ones or a trusted confidant. For we overcome by the blood of the Lamb and the word of our testimony.
Beauty for Ashes by Crystal Lewis & Ron Kenoly:
Isaiah 61:2c-3 NIV
2c to comfort all who mourn,
3 and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the Lord
for the display of his splendor.
You can read more about Milo and see pictures of him on my fine art photography website:
Remembering Milo: https://www.tanyaowens.com/post/remembering-milo-a-tribute-to-my-meow-face
In Loving Memory - Milo: https://www.tanyaowens.com/milo
You can also read two articles I wrote about him and his sister on my TANYA TALKS™ Substack, when they were juveniles:
Texas Cats are Weird:
Mini Panther Gifts:
