I’m not sure how I expected life to look after losing him, my soul mate, the love of my life. The disease, early-onset Alzheimer’s, took him too soon, far too soon. For 38 years, we built a life together. He was my rock, the one everyone could count on—strong, kind, full of love for others. The strength that radiated from him couldn’t stop what was happening inside his mind, and watching him fade was a pain like no other.
In the immediate aftermath of his passing, I was completely lost. There were days when getting out of bed seemed impossible when the sadness would hit like a wave, drowning me in memories, in what-ifs, in the cruel twists of fate.
But now, I’m finding myself somewhere in the middle of that grief. I haven’t fully moved beyond it, and maybe I never will. There are still days when the ache feels unbearable, and moments when the emptiness seems too vast to navigate.
Then there are good days. Small glimmers of hope that I didn’t think I’d feel again. The memories that once cut so deeply are becoming a little softer, a little brighter. I can remember the laughter, the love, the way his eyes lit up in a room full of people, and I smile through the tears. I’m beginning to see that it’s okay to live with both the sadness and the hope. I carry him with me every day, and while the loss is a part of me, so is the love, the strength, and the beauty of what we shared.
If you’re reading this and feeling lost in your own grief, I want you to know this: It’s okay to be in the middle. It’s okay to not be “on the other side” yet.
Grief doesn’t follow a timeline, and healing isn’t linear. But there is hope. There are better days ahead, even if they come slowly. And you don’t have to rush. Just keep going, one breath, one step at a time.