Tag Archives: grief

Grief, Thoughts and Notes

Loving After Loss: Learning to Carry Love Forward

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dog sitting on the beach at sunset loving after loss

Grief is strange. It doesn’t fade on a schedule, and it doesn’t just hurt — sometimes it comforts. My family just celebrated our youngest grandson’s birthday this past weekend. For me, it’s also a time marker—five years of joy with little E and five years without our big E.

When he died, I didn’t only lose him. I also lost the certainty and meaning I felt in my life when he was here. His love gave me an anchor. Without him, I felt like I was floating without direction.

Even now, the sadness comes and goes, as does the joy. Some days I want to move forward and stop feeling this heaviness. Other days, the grief feels like the only way I can still touch him. It reminds me of the love we had, of the version of myself I was with him. And honestly, that can feel like a gift.

When I ask myself what he would want for me, the answer is always the same. He’d want me to carry the love, not the sadness. He always wanted me to follow my heart, to choose joy, to never shrink my life down to pain. Knowing that is easy — living it is harder.

Life has carried me into another relationship now, with someone who was close to him. I love this man deeply, but our relationship is complicated at times. We share laughter and connection. There are moments of challenge and uncertainty. I find myself asking, “What would he want me to do?”

The truth I keep coming back to is this: he wouldn’t want me to suffer or be unhappy. He wouldn’t want me to abandon myself. He’d want me to protect my happiness and carry forward the best of what we shared. In my heart, I already knew this. Life gets complicated. We easily get lost in the moments of the day instead of looking at the big picture. All of this has taught me that today could be the last for one of us.

Grief, I’ve learned, isn’t something you move on from. It’s something you carry differently over time. Some days it’s heavier, some days lighter, but it’s always a part of the love that shaped you. I try to honor that by creating small rituals. These include writing letters to him. I also play a song that reminds me of him, or simply sit with my memories and allow myself to feel them fully.

At the same time, I allow space for the present. I try to notice joy when it comes and let laughter fill the quiet moments. I allow myself to love again without guilt. There’s no need to choose between remembering the past and living the present; I can do both.

I’ve realized that carrying someone’s love forward doesn’t mean keeping them trapped in sadness but letting their memory guide you, inspire you, and remind you of the feeling of being fully known and loved. It means living in a way that honors the love they gave you — by caring for yourself, pursuing your heart’s desires, and opening to the possibility of joy.

Grief doesn’t disappear, but it changes. And in that change, I’ve found a kind of freedom. I can carry him with me, in memory and in spirit, while still building a life that is rich, full, and alive. Perhaps that is the truest way to honor him — not by staying sad, but by living the life he always wanted me to have.

a half finished puzzle

Grief, Thoughts and Notes

Life, Loss and Change

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Hi there…well, yeah, it’s been a minute. Change has pulled me in different directions, leading writing to take a backseat. However, journaling remains a constant. I’m on the verge of completing my companion workbook to “The Narcissistic Tangle.” A major life shift occurred recently for those unaware—I moved back to Chicago in September.

Reflecting on Change

The past six months have been a whirlwind of change. I’m standing on the brink of the five-year anniversary of my late husband’s death this June. This milestone marks an emotional moment of reflection. Five years have elapsed, and I’m confronted with mixed emotions. Some days, the reality of his absence sharply takes my breath away, while other times, I speak of his death as if it’s just another casual conversation.

Five years feels like a hugely significant milestone. Somehow, there’s an expectation to feel differently, yet my emotions remain complex and varied. Looking at who I am now, I often wonder if the person I was would recognize the person I’ve become. The trinkets and possessions I once held dear are now mere echoes of another life. Memories only I hold now.

Embracing the Present

I keep asking myself, “What direction do I want to take now?” I am acutely aware that I’m not getting any younger. While I’m able-bodied now, recent back issues remind me of life’s unpredictability. A fall last year introduced me to physical challenges I had never confronted before. It shifted my perspective on physical capabilities and future possibilities.

Life continues to provide blessings and opportunities. This is true despite some minor physical setbacks. A recent snowboarding trip to Wisconsin is evidence of this. Although it was a much-needed, beautiful, and exciting trip, the recovery was longer than expected. The whole experience was a stark reminder of how our bodies change, sometimes subtly, sometimes dramatically.

Conclusion

This journey through time, change, and self-discovery continues to unfold. It’s teaching me about resilience and the new paths available when one chapter closes. I remain curious about the directions life will take me next. I am constantly confronted with how I will adapt to newfound circumstances while cherishing memories of past experiences and loved ones. Life’s ever-evolving nature is its own adventure, inviting us all to embrace change with courage and curiosity.

Thanks for reading. I love you all –xxooC

Grief, Thoughts and Notes

Finding Your Path After Loss: Two Journeys, One Strength

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I’ve been asking myself the same question for some time, “Where do I go from here?” It’s also a question I never really have an answer for. I had a different yet familiar sort of conversation today about finding a path after loss. At work of course, and she was a recent widow. She was out and about with her support person, the friend who had been there with her, through it all.

They were giggling as she talked her friend into buying a costly handbag while she confessed her friend had just caused her to spend an obscene amount on new furniture. The whole situation was very reminiscent of a time not long ago in my past. Although my path led me to a different end, I found myself engulfed in her story and how this widow got to where she was, as she seemed extremely content and at peace. I had to know more.

Two Choices, A Shared Purpose

I was enthralled as this new conversation unfolded. Her trauma was sudden, just like mine although her’s was much newer. She was recently widowed and decided to keep her house. She felt it necessary to continue with the improvements she and her late husband had discussed doing. It was a commitment she was holding, and somehow, I admired that and felt it in my soul because I had contemplated that same dilemma.

When Eric died, I initially thought, “I’ll pay off the house, stay here, and continue this new life we had begun together. I’ll do all the things we wanted to do to the house.” Because ironically, we too had unfinished plans for our house. I was going to order new flooring we had just picked out three days before. That same day, we purchased a new tree for the front yard.

maple tree in front yard finding your path after loss

I did plant the tree we picked out for the front yard.

I learned this new widow had just replaced the flooring on her second floor. The furniture, well, she and her husband wanted to completely re-do the second floor. It all seemed so surreal, I was talking to myself in another universe, in another life—both equal and opposite endings. Ultimately, I chose a different path because, as destiny has it, we are different individuals in entirely different scenarios. Each small difference in each other is influencing and guiding our different paths forward. Both are valid, and both are healing in their own respective nature.

Admiring Strength In A Different Path

I admire this woman. I never asked her her name, and she never asked mine. We didn’t have “that” sort of connection, although we had a mutual admiration for each other and our different decisions. We had both found our paths after a very devastating loss. We understood that although we were faced with some of the very same choices, our paths ultimately led us in different directions in the wake of our loss. She has children and grandchildren, and her large house is still usable. Although I have a child and grandchildren, it is a great distance away and wouldn’t be of any benefit to me.

So I let it go to rebuild a different life. One of less. In a different city. One of more substance with a minimalistic nature. It doesn’t make mine any less, just different. And it suits me fine.

my street corner finding your path after loss

We are both validated in our loss and comforted in the reminders we keep. There is no right or wrong way to grieve; we have to decide what is best for each of us and try to move forward. That’s the thing about grief, sometimes it’s forward, sometimes it’s backward, sometimes it is neither, but we must move with time.

Universality Of Grief

This encounter isn’t the first I’ve had with other widows. I’ve written about them before, but this one was quite different. I learned so much from this conversation. In that moment, we were bonded in the shared experience of finding a path after loss. She was so positive and upbeat for being so fresh into her journey, and I admired that as well. We both face so many challenges, such as fear, loneliness, and uncertainty about our futures; however, we have support. Something not every survivor has, and that is the unfortunate fact.

In the end, we all have to use our intuition and make the decisions that are best for us.

Thanks for reading. –xxooC

give love macy's display
Destinations, Grief, Thoughts and Notes

Better or just Different?–As Time Passes

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While visiting the picturesque island of Sanibel, I wandered into a small toy store. What started as a casual shopping trip became a profound and unforgettable encounter. Behind the register stood a small woman whose warmth and empathy touched me deeply. As we spoke, I shared my story of trauma and loss, tears streaming down my face. Her response was unexpected yet powerful. She didn’t promise that things would get better, just different.

Her words have echoed in my mind since, prompting me to reflect on my healing process. Can things ever truly get better after trauma and loss, or do they simply become different? This question has shaped my understanding of life since June 2020 as I navigate the twists and turns of an undeniably altered reality.

The Encounter in the Toy Store

It was in September 2020 that I decided I needed to get away. I wanted to go someplace I was familiar and comfortable with. Sanibel Island, Florida, kept coming to my mind. It had been at least 15 years since I had set foot on the island. My memories of it were very fond. With the help and encouragement of my family, I planned a semi-solo trip. I booked two weeks in a small condo on the beach. To stay on the beach in Sanibel for more than a quick visit was on my bucket list, so I had no problem saying yes to myself.

One day, I was out riding my bike and decided to stop at a strip on the main road. I remembered a great little boutique, and it was still there. After shopping, I wandered further in and found a small toy store. I needed to get something for the grandbaby. A small woman was sitting behind the cash register in the corner. She greeted me when I walked in and asked where I was from. Still in an ever-so-fragile state, I started crying and telling her my whole story.

To my surprise, she, too, had been through something quite similar. She recounted another lifetime when she was young, married, and had two adolescent children. A boy and a girl. Her story is not mine to share, but I could see the pain in her eyes. The same pain I felt. It was still there within her, and I could tell she had it buried very deep. She touched my shoulder and said the haunting words I will never forget; “You are still in it. You can’t see past this yet. Things will eventually look different.” And then she stood there and cried with me until the shop phone rang. In that instant, the connection was broken, and I said “goodbye” and left.

Reflecting on “Different” not “Better”

What has stayed with me is her use of the word “different” instead of many others she could have chosen. She could have said “better,” but she didn’t. The pain in her eyes told me she meant to say “different” and nothing else. So I left that day hoping that I might feel different but never whole, never fully healed, and never the same as before…just different.

She also added that things got so bad that she sold everything she owned and moved across the state, where she started a completely new life. How ironic that that might have been the seed planted in my head.

The Nature of Change

Since June 2020, I have driven to the West Coast and back twice by myself. I’ve spent months in Florida, Oregon, California, and Colorado, just to name a few of the most beautiful states I’ve ever seen. When I was caught up in life and tied to a job and family, I had always dreamed of a day just to go. Now was that day, and I took full advantage. Did it heal me? No, but it gave a sense of peace to my heart, knowing my life could be anything I choose to make it from today forward. I remind myself of that frequently.

As of today, his death anniversary has come and gone four times now. I’ve celebrated his birthday five times without him. We’ve had four imaginary anniversaries. We celebrated a new grandbaby who will soon be turning four as well. There are so many milestones, and yet sometimes it seems like yesterday. Just the other day my cousin and I talked about our lives five years ago, and we both agreed that it was another lifetime ago. So many changes in just a short time. Not all changes were for the better, and some were definitely hard. But without them, we wouldn’t all be where we are today.

Is change healing? I don’t have an answer to that. What I have discovered though, is that I am in control of most of the change that happens in my life. We all are; we don’t see it sometimes. We get lost in the chaos of daily life.

I used just to let life go by. Not anymore. Everyone used to say, “Get used to the new normal.” There is nothing normal in the aftermath of losing a loved one. Incidentally, here’s a tip; don’t say that to someone who is grieving.

REFLECTIONS

So, in reflection on “Are things better or just different?” I have to say both. If you’ve read anything I’ve written before, you know I don’t fully subscribe to the stages of grief. Personally, I feel like they are just a made-up roadmap to help us all prepare for unexpected emotions surrounding grief, but I won’t get into that here. Grief has so many layers, as does trauma.

But at the end of the day, things are different now than they were. Some good, some bad, but mostly just “different.” My family has gotten older, I’ve moved several times, accomplished some things I’ve always wanted to do, and seen places I always dreamed of. Some as a direct result of loss, but some not, and each day I wake up, I still have the ritual of looking outside and seeing possibility. When I go to bed at night, I meditate on what I am thankful I still have in my life.

Thanks for reading. –xxooC

sanibel island, florida better or just different
Grief, Thoughts and Notes

A Realization of Widowhood: Navigating the Reality of Being Single

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Realization of Widowhood…Setting IN

I. Am. Single. Yes, that’s what I said. It’s a hard realization of widowhood. It really doesn’t matter how long you were married before, the law only recognizes “until death do you part.” So now, whether you want to be or not, like it or not, you are single!

It’s hard to take in. It’s hard to process. But I have to, don’t I? Long before I was even ready to normalize anything, I was hit with the word “single.” And there you have it, folks, my life summed up in one single word for the government and any other authoritative entity that matters: “single.” The realization of widowhood.

I bring this up because I’ve confronted it multiple times in the last few weeks. For those of you new to my game, I’ve been a widow for a little over four years now, so nothing really surprises me. However, this did—quite a bit, actually.

I’ve spent most of my adult life being a wife. Not all at once, I do admit, but this last time was the one that counted, and I am counting a little over 23 years that I’ve been called Mrs…..

Being forced to be counted as single is a shock at first. Then it tries to settle in, only to be replaced by horror that I can no longer be called anything BUT “single” in the eyes of the law and government. I think there needs to be a change in this somewhere, but I can’t comprehend that right now.

The Weight of the Word “Single”

When you first hear it, it feels like a blow. “Single” seems to erase all the shared memories, the love, and the life built together. It feels reductive, minimizing years of companionship to a mere label. Adjusting to this new reality is daunting. The transition from being part of a “we” to just “me” is not only emotionally taxing but also socially and legally challenging.

Society’s Lens on Widowhood

Society often views widowhood through a sympathetic lens, but rarely does it understand the internal battle that comes with it. The term “single” doesn’t capture the complexity of the loss, the journey through grief, and the slow rebuilding of one’s life. Instead, it throws us into a category that feels foreign and uncomfortable.

The Journey of Acceptance

Coming to terms with this new status takes time. It’s a journey of acceptance, filled with moments of denial, anger, and eventually, understanding. Recognizing oneself as single after a significant loss is an essential step in healing. It doesn’t mean forgetting the past or diminishing the love that was shared. Instead, it’s about acknowledging the present and finding a path forward.

Navigating the New Normal

I really hate the term “the new normal.” I heard it a lot in the early days of widowhood, and every reminder of your single status feels like a fresh wound. From legal documents to social events, the constant labeling can be overwhelming. However, over time, these reminders can transform into affirmations of resilience and strength. They can become markers of progress, signifying the ability to move forward while still cherishing the past.

Finding Strength in Community

For those navigating similar paths, finding a community of support can make a significant difference. Sharing experiences, challenges, and victories with others who understand can provide comfort and encouragement. It’s through these connections that we can find solace and strength, knowing we are not alone in our journey.

Conclusion: Embracing the Future

Widowhood reshapes our identity in profound ways. Accepting the term “single” is part of this transformation. While it may never fully capture the depth of our experiences, it does signify a new chapter. Embracing this chapter means honoring the past while stepping into the future with hope and resilience. This may seem like a lot at first and if it is, be patient, you’ll get there. Remember: you are more than a label. You are a testament to enduring love and unyielding strength.

Thanks for reading. I love you all –xxooC

Destinations, Grief, On The Road

A Grief Journey Continued: Chasing Clarity

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The Anniversary of the Beginning

I must confess, my last post about facing the fourth anniversary of the start of my grief journey was a bit of a joke to me and not the haha kind. Although I wrote and rewrote it several times, no words seemed to convey what I was experiencing. I couldn’t quite wrap my thoughts around it. In an effort to just get something out, I pushed through the pain.

Yes, the time dilation was real. I found myself obsessing over photos again. With vivid detail, I could remember everything about a particular moment in time. However, as I kept getting pulled back into moments that happened five, seven, ten years, and more, living in the present seemed like the dream I would eventually wake up from. Only to be met in the present with the inevitable shock wave of grief and trauma over and over.

Believe it or not, that’s how the mind of a surviving spouse works, or at least mine does. Here’s the disclaimer: everyone grieves differently, and everyone processes trauma differently. Your experiences and grief journey may be completely different, and that is okay. Start your own blog. It’s very therapeutic. Click here for some inspiration. You can thank me later.

For reasons unknown, this year was particularly hard. I had the best support, and I’m becoming comfortable in this new life I’ve created. Yet, there is still this intense feeling of loss to contend with. I suppose it’s because the loss was sudden and unforeseen. It was thrust upon me, and I simply had to just deal with it and all of its messiness. Messiness like having to renew my truck plates and both of our names are still listed.

Embracing Clarity in Grief

Lately, I’ve been reminiscing about a couple of widows I met while traveling in Florida early on. Each told me their story of losing their husband. Both were sudden, like me, and both were quite similar, although they were hundreds of miles apart. Each one talked about how they got to a point where they just couldn’t go on in the environment they were in. So, they packed up what little they wanted to keep and moved. One to another part of the state and one from a completely different state. Far enough away to start a whole, brand new life. And with that, they seemed content, like they had no regrets at all.

I also find it interesting that one is living her life alone, completely content in her chosen isolation, while the other started a new career and remarried. They did what was best for their survival. That is exactly how I’m feeling; I have known it for some time. I must go. I must go to a place he and I weren’t and start a new life. I’ve done pretty well at reinventing myself; now I have to take it a little further and go and not look back.

The Vulnerability of Moving On

This year’s anniversary came with so many revelations. In grief, clarity will come. I have to caution you, though, and this is another article I plan to write, be very wary in the first few years. Pay particular attention to who you trust, and constantly doubt everyone’s motives. Intense grief makes one vulnerable. I had people take advantage of me in so many different ways in the first few years of my grief journey. They included friends, family, and trusted individuals. Those with a dishonest heart will see an opportunity, and you won’t know what’s coming because of the cloud of grief.

Solace by The Lake

So there it is. Another year has passed. I can’t say I have much to show for it except for the clarity and maybe a better grip on my life. I know more of what I want, don’t want, and will tolerate. Oh, the book—yeah, then there is that. Incidentally, I’m learning the business of promotion and advertising. I haven’t made a million dollars yet.

As for my anniversary, I spent my day on the beach, one of the best places on earth. Some of the following day was spent there too. Then, on Sunday, I watched one of the most amazing sunrises. It always brings me peace, and this year was no different.

Enjoy the photos 🙂

Thanks for reading. –xxooC

me at the dunes in indiana a grief journey
sunrise at the dunes a grief journey
sunrise at the dunes
a dune on the beach
the dunes beach facing chicago
the beach at the dunes a grief journey