According to Osho, grief after a loved one dies is not caused by their departure but by the collapse of our hidden belief in permanence. The wound is the shattering of our arrangement with reality. Seeing that everyone must go transforms sorrow into gratitude and wakefulness: accept their going as a grace, remember your own mortality, and begin preparing inwardly for death while living more consciously.
We hurt not because they died, but because we secretly believed they wouldn’t; knowing everyone goes can turn pain into wiser, kinder living.
From the Discourses
Passages where Osho speaks to this question — each links to the complete discourse.
We have many holes in our being. Because of those holes we seek the company of the other, the love of the other. By the other's presence we somehow manage to fill those holes. When the other disappears, those holes are again there -- yawning abysses opening. You may have forgotten about them, but you will feel them and the pain. So use these moments for a deep meditation because sooner or later those holes will be filled again. These holes will again disappear. Before it happens it is good to enter those holes, to enter that emptiness that [she] will leave behind her. So use these moments. Sit silently, close your eyes, go inside. And just see what has happened. Don't think about the future, don't think about the past. Don't go into the memories because that is futile. Just go in. What has happened to you?
Osho, I am deeply confused. On the 30th of October my dear little sister Jyoti passed away. I feel a great deal of grief and distress. Listening to your talks and meditating brings a slight sense of peace, yet after so many years of love and affection, every fiber of my being is haunted by her memory. In such a circumstance what should I do? Osho, please bestow some compassionate guidance.
You are deceiving yourself. You put it all on Jyoti—as if, had you not gone, I would not be miserable; you left and plunged me in grief. You are trying to forget that the grief is not about Jyoti’s going; it is about the fact that you too must go. Her death has made you alert to death: it came to me, it will come to you too. Look, it has come to me—and I was younger than you! Do not falsify this. You say that listening to discourses and meditating brings you a little peace. That is not peace; it is consolation. Listening, you forget. That is not peace; it is oblivion—like losing yourself in a film for two hours and forgetting your own story; or being engrossed in a sensational detective novel and forgetting your worries; or drinking alcohol, sinking into a slight stupor and forgetting your turmoil.…
Question: Last question: Osho! Two months ago my brother—my maternal aunt’s son—died at the age of twenty-six. He had lived with us for five years and was more intimate than even a brother or a son. We gave him a beautiful send-off for the onward journey of his departed soul. We knew how. We sang hymns and melodies. Not mourning—celebration. One hymn was: मुखड़ा नी माया लागी रे... मोहन प्यारा, मुखडूं में जोयूं तारूं, मन मारूं धयूं न्यारूं रे... मोहन प्यारा! In this song there was a sweetness addressed to Krishna, and at the same time a remembrance of the late Raj. Today, upon hearing your discourse in person for the first time, that hymn spontaneously began to resonate within me and stayed with me all day. Perhaps it was a glimpse—of the inner meaning of that hymn we had sung—मुखड़ा नी माया लागी रे...!
When we love a person he becomes part of our being. That's exactly what love is: becoming parts of each other, becoming members of each other. So when a person dies, a part of you dies with him. It is not simply a suicide of [him]; it is a partial death of [you] too. He has taken a part of you, the part that he has put inside you, that had become involved with you; he has taken that away. Now there is a blank, a hole; it hurts. So when you go back to the flat it hurts more because everything reminds you of it. If death is natural then one can accept it; because what could poor [man] have done? One can forgive a natural death, mm? because he would have simply died; what could he have done about it?
Osho, I am extremely sad. Since my wife’s death, my sorrow has known no end. I have come to you seeking consolation.
Then you have come to the wrong place. I don’t give consolation here to anyone. If you want truth, take it; don’t ask for consolation. All consolations are false. They are bandages on the wound, not its healing. Since you have come here, it is better to let the pus of the wound drain out. Better to open the wound, let open air and sunlight touch it. Don’t hide the wound, because hidden wounds do not heal. Expose the wound so that it can be healed. You say: I am extremely sad. Then cry—let the wound flow—open the wound! Why be afraid? You found happiness in your wife; should someone else bear the sorrow? When you had happiness, you didn’t come saying, “I am so happy—please take a little of it too.” Now that sorrow has come to you, you have come to take consolation! Whoever receives happiness will also…