Entangled: A Story of Grief That Arrived Before the News

A Personal Story of Entangled Love and Dreams.

(A quick note before I begin: I want to mention that I'm neither a physicist nor a scientist. What follows is a simplified concept from quantum physics that provided me with a new way to embrace the unseen.)

Grief arrived before the news. My daughter dreamt the breath leaving. And science—of all things—finally gave me permission to trust it.

For a long time, I needed things to be provable to believe they were real. I wasn’t raised to trust what couldn’t be explained. My mind wanted evidence, not energy. If it didn’t have a source I could point to, I didn’t know how to hold it.

But something deeper in me always did.

Knew that love moved faster than light.

Knew that pain could ripple through soul lines.

Knew that dreams sometimes delivered messages the waking world couldn’t reach.

I just didn’t have a language for it—until the most unlikely translator arrived: the strange, poetic truths of quantum physics.

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Grief Before the Message

My sister and I aren’t the type to talk every day—life naturally pulls us in different directions—but that day carried a heaviness I couldn’t ignore. All afternoon, a quiet sadness followed me, clinging like a fog that refused to lift.

That evening, I was in the middle of a conversation when something cracked open inside me. It turned suddenly, overwhelmingly emotional. I felt grief. A tidal wave of it. Not my usual sensitivity—something deeper, heavier, more primal. It took my breath.

Moments later, my phone buzzed.

It was my sister. She was distraught—texting through tears as she held her dog in her arms, terrified and in pain as she watched her beloved girl fade away.

I hadn’t known. But my body did. The grief I’d been carrying wasn’t mine alone.

Later that night, as her dog was taking her final breath, my daughter was at her dad’s house—dreaming. She didn’t know anything about what was happening. I hadn’t said a word.

But in her dream, a dog just like my sister’s—same breed—was struggling to breathe. And she was overwhelmed with sadness.

She didn’t tell me right away. Not until the next evening when she came home, quiet and unsettled. “I had a bad dream last night,” she said.

I knew it wasn’t just a dream. But this time, I didn't have to call it magic. I could begin to see it as science.

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The Framework That Could Hold It

I found my framework in the last place I’d expected: the subatomic world. Quantum physics isn’t about cause-and-effect in straight lines. It’s a world of probability, mystery, and a phenomenon called entanglement. A world where:

• Particles born from the same event remain connected across any distance, reacting to one another instantly—what Einstein called “spooky action at a distance.”

• Time is not the rigid ruler we assume it to be.

• Reality is influenced by observation.

It’s not just physics. It’s soul logic.

When I learned about entanglement, something in my spirit sighed in recognition. If two particles can be linked so profoundly that a change in one is felt by the other across the universe, then why not us?

We are not particles, but we are made of them. The love between my sister and I is a force that has entangled us for decades. The bond with my daughter was forged in the same moment of creation. The dog she loved wove herself into that web. We are a living system. And in a system that intimate, grief doesn't travel. It simply appears, simultaneously, in every part of the whole.

That night, the system trembled. It hit my heart before the text arrived. It reached my daughter's sleeping mind as a dream. For the first time, I didn't need to call it a coincidence or a supernatural event. I could see it as part of a natural, albeit deeply mysterious, order.

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From Doubt to Trust

I used to brush these things off. Call them weird. Random. But I don’t do that anymore.

Because what if the weirdest things are the most honest?

What if the dreams, the sudden knowing, the emotions with no names—what if they’re how the universe speaks in a language we're just beginning to translate?

And what if we’ve been taught to ignore the very things that make us feel the most alive?

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The Takeaway

Science didn’t replace my spirituality. It expanded it.

This new way of seeing gave me permission to believe what I already felt. That we are connected beyond explanation. That time doesn’t always make sense. That love, grief, and knowing move in nonlinear ways.

You don’t have to fully understand it to believe in it.

If you’ve ever cried before the call came…

If your child has dreamt what no one told them…

If your body knew what your mind hadn’t learned yet…

You’re not imagining things.

You’re entangled.

The world is more mysterious, more connected, more alive than we’ve been taught. And the unseen doesn’t need your belief to be real. It just needs your attention.

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Author's Note: I took to science not for rigid proofs, but for beautiful metaphors. The concept of "quantum entanglement" is, for me, a poetic lens; a way to name the deep, inexplicable connections we feel in life, in love, and in loss. This is a personal story, not a scientific argument.

I wonder, when have you felt it? When has a feeling, a dream, or a knowing arrived before the news? Share your story of connection below.