LexTalk

The other day, I came across a post in a tarot group from a woman whose heart was visibly breaking. Her husband has cancer and has outlived his prognosis by two years—a miracle in itself, but one layered with exhaustion, fear, and quiet hope. She pulled a few tarot cards, looking for meaning, maybe reassurance, maybe just someone to listen.

The cards she pulled were powerful:

The Tower. The Five of Cups. The Eight of Wands. Death.

Some might look at that spread and feel panic, assuming the worst. But tarot, like life, isn’t always about fear. Sometimes it’s about truth. And in this case, I saw not doom—but depth, transition, and sacred love.

The Tower

This card speaks to collapse—the kind that shakes your foundation and asks you to rebuild. A diagnosis can do that. Watching someone you love suffer – can too. But the Tower, while painful, is also honest. It clears what’s no longer sustainable and carves space for something more aligned, more real. Sometimes what crumbles needed to fall so your soul could rise.

Five of Cups

This card looks like sorrow—and it is. It’s grief, mourning, and the deep ache of what’s been lost. But it also reminds us to look up. Not everything is gone. Two cups still stand. Two cups of love, support, connection, or maybe just the quiet moments of breath and peace that still remain. There’s something worth holding onto, even in the sadness.

Eight of Wands

A rush of movement, signs, and messages. Things are shifting. Maybe quickly. Maybe spiritually. For those who believe, this card can be a nudge from the universe—a whisper that you’re not alone. That something greater is guiding this journey, even when it feels chaotic.

Death

So often feared but deeply misunderstood. Death in tarot is not always about a physical end. It’s transformation. It’s the soul releasing what it no longer needs. It’s the shedding of skin, of pain, of limitations. Whether literal or symbolic, this card asks us to trust the cycle: endings bring beginnings. There is beauty in the release.

A Message for the Grieving Heart

This post isn’t just for the woman who shared her cards. It’s for anyone carrying grief in their chest, for anyone watching someone they love fight, fade, or transform. You are not alone. Your sorrow is not invisible. And what you’re feeling is sacred.

Tarot doesn’t always predict—it reflects. It holds up a mirror to the soul. And sometimes, it simply says:

“I see you. I feel what you’re feeling. Let’s walk through this together.“

So, if you’re reading this and going through something heavy—this is your reminder that the Tower will eventually clear. That not all the cups have spilled. That messages of hope come when you need them. And that Death, in its strange and mysterious way, might just be the doorway to something greater than we understand

To the Woman Who Inspired This

If by some chance you ever come across this post—please know that you inspired it. Your vulnerability, your strength, and your willingness to seek meaning in the cards touched something deep in me.

I won’t name you, out of respect for your privacy, but I hope you feel this message in your soul. Thank you for reminding me how powerful love is. How even in the darkest moments, we search for light. You are not alone. Your journey matters. And your story—just by being shared—has helped me and, I hope, will help others too.

With love and deep respect,

Lex