On Starting Over Again.

October 28, 2025

Journal Entry 10/28/2025

I find it so profound and cruelly ironic that I’ve moved to Illinois not once, not twice, but three times with someone. Each time, it was with the same hope: to start fresh, to build a life of love and purpose, to make a home where we could both belong.

The first time was with Eric — my husband, my partner for twenty-two years, my best friend. We moved for his dream, for his life’s work. We both believed it was the beginning of something new — a chapter of success and fulfillment after years of hard work and faith in each other. And then, without warning, his heart gave out. An undiagnosed condition stole him away, and with him went the life we had built, the rhythm of everything I knew. That loss was so complete it didn’t even feel real. I left Illinois because I couldn’t bear to stay in the place where our future ended overnight.

The second time was with Greg. I was trying to find something of me again, to rebuild what was lost, and to create something meaningful for both of us. We left because I wasn’t adjusting to life the way I thought I could — I was still carrying so much pain, still unsteady — and my father-in-law needed me home. It wasn’t failure, exactly, but it was unfinished, and I carried that ache with me.

The third time was another attempt to start over — to get away, to start fresh, and to finally build a home where Greg and I could truly thrive and put everything behind us. I wanted peace. I wanted us to grow together, to heal together. And then, once again, it all ended. This time in the most unimaginable way.

Now I sit with the weight of all three — love, loss, hope, destruction — and I can hardly comprehend it. The first time, tragedy. The second, transition. The third, trauma. Each move felt like a new chapter, but somehow they all end the same: with me, standing in the ruins of what I built, wondering how to start again.

I feel like I’ve spent years building homes inside other people — places I thought I could rest, where love would be enough to keep us safe. But maybe now, I need to build a home inside myself. One that can’t be taken away. One that stays, even when no one else does.

photos of greg, odin, freija, and eric and myself. Happy.

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About Me and My Grief Journey

My grief journey began in the Summer of 2020. I became a widow overnight. Without warning, my entire life was turned upside down, broken into pieces I didn’t know how to put back together. Writing became my anchor—my way to breathe, process, and heal, even in small, fractured moments.

After losing Eric, I was diagnosed with PTSD, complicated grief, and an anxiety disorder. For a long time, I was paralyzed by my own emotions. I traveled across the U.S. for over two years, mostly alone, learning how to carry myself through the aftermath of sudden loss.

Along the way, I found love again. Greg became an important part of my life, bringing companionship, laughter, and even new challenges. Losing him to suicide has been another unimaginable heartbreak that shapes much of what I write here. Through it all, my emotional support animals —Odin (dog) and Freija (cat)— keep me grounded and remind me there is still love, life, and care to give.

I moved and now reside in Chicago, Illinois. This city, this home, is my space to rebuild, to grieve, and to explore who I am beyond loss.

What you will find here

This blog started as a place to house my writing. Over time, it’s become much more. Here, I reflect on grief, healing, and the messy, beautiful, often difficult journey of life after sudden loss. I write about my day-to-day experiences, the struggles and triumphs with my diagnoses, and anything else that captures my heart and attention.

My journey on podcasts

Many of my articles are available in podcast form on Spotify and Amazon Music. I welcome your comments—I love feedback. Let’s share this journey together, and maybe find adventure along the way.

Blue Widow Chronicles