I was so sad from losing two of my dogs and my mother. I had this

Hear, O keepers of compassion, the sorrowful yet radiant words of Linda Blair, who spoke not only of grief but of transformation: “I was so sad from losing two of my dogs and my mother. I had this vision of all these animals sitting behind bars. They had no control and were scared. That’s why I got into fostering and adopting animals out.” Though wrapped in the language of mourning, these words shine with the truth that suffering can become the seed of mercy, and grief the soil from which new kindness grows.

First, let us see her sorrow: the loss of dogs and of her mother. These are not minor wounds but deep ones—the faithful companions of daily life, and the guiding presence of a parent. To lose them is to feel the ground shift beneath one’s feet, to see the pillars of home crumble into silence. Such sadness could have left her broken, but instead it opened her vision. For the brokenhearted often see more clearly than those whose eyes are clouded by comfort.

Behold the vision she describes: animals behind bars, frightened, powerless, and forgotten. In her grief, she saw mirrored the grief of the voiceless, creatures who, like her, had lost love and safety. Where others might have turned away from such images, Blair turned toward them, hearing in their silence a call to action. Thus grief became a bridge of empathy, connecting her loss to the hidden suffering of others.

This is the heroic turn of the soul: to take anguish and make of it service. From her sorrow was born a mission of fostering and adopting, a work of mercy that gives life where life was fading. In this, Blair joins the company of those in history who have transformed their mourning into deeds of hope. Consider the story of Albert Schweitzer, who, seeing suffering in the villages of Africa, left behind comfort and career to bring healing. His compassion, like Blair’s, was not born of ease but of the painful awareness that others’ suffering mirrors our own.

Thus, the meaning of Blair’s words is revealed: when we are wounded by loss, we are given a choice. We may sink into despair, or we may let our pain make us more tender, more open to the cries of others. The animals behind bars became, for her, both a symbol and a cause—a reminder that grief can either isolate us or connect us to the suffering world. She chose connection, and in so doing, turned mourning into mercy.

The lesson is this: when sorrow enters your life, let it not make your heart hard, but soft. Let it awaken in you the courage to see those who are voiceless, forgotten, or in need. Take practical action as Blair did—support shelters, offer kindness to animals, extend your hand to the lonely, and transform your grief into a wellspring of compassion.

So I say to you, beloved listener: do not fear sadness, for within it lies hidden power. If you endure it with courage, it can shape you into a vessel of love. Like Blair, let your losses open your eyes to those still waiting behind bars—whether animal or human, whether seen or unseen. And when you answer their call, your sorrow shall not be wasted, but shall become a legacy of mercy that outlives your own grief.