Grief

My husband is dead.

I say that as much for myself as I say it for you, dear reader. I still have to remind myself.

It’s been very nearly a month. Both the longest and shortest month of my life. Time no longer seems linear—I just float around inside the days and bump from one moment to the next.

No action feels deliberate. No path seems anything but guesswork and gravity.

Nothing feels real. It’s as if I’m living a waking nightmare where so much of what plays around me looks normal but everything is truly off. Not slightly. Truly, truly off.

I’m staying with my in-laws. That’s certainly not normal. My husband and I didn’t have kids, so it’s just me now. And our dog, Mary Poppins. Our other dog Hei Hei died at the beginning of the year. My parents are gone: my dad died when I was 19; my mother, nearly two years ago. I live across the country from my extended family and where I grew up. So, my circle is pretty small.

The three of us (my in-laws and I) aren’t quite ready to face life without my husband, so we’re keeping him close by being with each other.

My husband’s death was sudden. He was there and then he wasn’t. We’re in our forties, old only to teenagers and Hollywood—no one could’ve seen this coming.

I’ve never experienced a shocking death before. Not a close one that affects your daily life. Every death before this one, even the ones that came much too soon, were a possibility. That shock—that stunning pivot of the earth that throws your world off course—is emotional vertigo. I tread now as if on wet cement or, better yet, walking across the ocean using a bridge constructed only of pool floats.

My husband was my true north.

Now, my compass is wonky. Good as nothing more than a fidget spinner.

REGRETS

I already have mental health issues. I have been diagnosed with both anxiety and depression and I have a little trauma thrown in for seasoning. So, adding grief on top of this makes for the least tasty plate of nachos ever served. And guacamole is not only extra, it comes with childhood scarring.

What I don’t have though, in terms of my husband, is regret. I told that man every day of our lives that I loved him and multiple times at that. I savored every mundane moment we had—still giggling when I would look in the closet and see “boy clothes” mixed in with mine. I would grab his face out of nowhere and kiss him. I’d squeeze his butt on the regular. I’d tell him that his opinion was the most important opinion to me.

He had his own versions of these things that he would bestow on me. And that’s how we lived our life. Simply, in love. In respect. Trying our best for each other. Not holding back from each other. Being honest. Not keeping grudges. Understanding that we were lucky and not taking each other for granted.

So, I’m sad. I’m depressed. I’m scared. I’m a thousand different emotions, none of which feel good, but I don’t hate myself. I don’t have a list of things to hold over myself and force me to question what kept me from them. I don’t have unsaid words that will fester in my heart, creating a different kind of ache than the one I’m currently feeling.

And in that way, I’m still lucky. Because the grief is bad enough. The shock and the fear and the absolute sadness is tough enough. The despair—it’s enough. I don’t need crippling regret on top of that.

YOU

You don’t need crippling regret on top of that.

So, this is your sign. That one you’ve been waiting for. Tell the people you love them. Really see those things in your life that some people aren’t lucky enough to have—we all have them (an amazing best friend, a beautiful garden, a fabulous waffle recipe). Cherish the little things. Experience all the joy you can out of the big things. Don’t hold onto the grudges; you don’t have to forgive and forget but don’t clutter up your emotional space with someone else’s bullshit. You don’t deserve that.

Live your life with intent and purpose.

Love yourself and then…love others.

Find laughter even during the tough times. That’s when we need it the most.

Find your passion and bask in it.

And if someone tells you that your passion doesn’t qualify as a passion, get yourself away from that judgement and negativity and go create your joy.