As I sit here on the eve of what would have been an anniversary date between Bob and me, I am watching one of my regular television shows when, without warning, one of the main characters is involved in a major accident and does not survive. I continue watching as someone is sent to tell his wife. As I watch her reaction unfold, it suddenly doesn’t feel like television anymore. It feels like one of those moments when grief quietly reaches across the years and taps you on the shoulder.
In the past few weeks, a friend of mine has also experienced a heart scare with her husband. Thankfully, he survived and is now on a path toward better health. Those of you who read this blog know that I lost Bob to a massive heart attack in 2007. While I was grateful that my friend’s story had a different outcome, it also reminded me how quickly life can change and how those experiences stay with us long after the immediate crisis has passed.
Nineteen years later, my life looks very different from how it did when I first became a widow. I am blessed to share my life with a wonderful man who loves me dearly. He has become a father figure and grandfather to our growing family, and the grandchildren lovingly call him Papaw. Recently, we welcomed our eighteenth grandchild, and my life is filled with laughter, family gatherings, and moments I could not have imagined during those early days of grief.
Yet I still think of Bob.
That statement may seem surprising to some people. After all, nineteen years is a long time. But Bob will always be a part of me. He is woven into my story and into the person I became after losing him. In many ways, he is the reason I write for all of you today. Had I not walked through that loss, Torn in Half would never have existed, and I might never have found this community of people learning how to navigate life after loss.
I have learned, in this journey, that grief is not something you “get over”, and it is not about stages to be checked off. Loss is something you integrate into your life, becoming part of who you are and your story.
There will always be things that remind me of him, and I have come to realize that there is nothing wrong with that. I can be grateful for where I am today while still feeling the ache of a memory. I can deeply love the life I have now while acknowledging the sadness that sometimes accompanies remembering the life I once had. Those things are not mutually exclusive.
Medical tests for the man in my life now can still make me anxious. Losing someone unexpectedly changes the way you view those situations. Even after all these years, there are moments when fear quietly appears and reminds me that nothing in life is guaranteed. When those moments come, I try to focus on what is true today. We love each other. We are happy together. We are making memories. That is what matters.
As I continued watching the show, I was surprised by how many details resonated with me. The discussions about funeral arrangements, the questions about where to bury a spouse, and the countless decisions that suddenly fall on the shoulders of someone whose world has just been turned upside down all felt familiar. Those are not abstract conversations when you have lived them.
Then the widow on the show talked about the last time they said goodbye. It was nothing extraordinary. Just a normal kiss. A simple “I love you.” Nothing dramatic. Nothing that suggested life was about to change forever. That part struck me because so many of us who have experienced loss understand that reality. Most of us never realize we are having our last conversation, our last meal together, or our last goodbye.
Then came another unexpected moment. The widow learned that her husband had not died from the accident itself. He had suffered a heart attack behind the wheel. In that instant, I found myself transported back to my own experience. Not because I live there anymore or because I am stuck in the past, but because some experiences become woven into who we are. They leave fingerprints on our hearts that remain long after the pain has softened.
As I sat there, I realized that grief no longer looks the way it once did. It doesn’t consume my days or prevent me from finding joy or loving again. Instead, it appears quietly from time to time through a television show, a conversation with a friend, a medical test, or an unexpected memory. The moments are fewer now, and they pass more quickly, but they still happen.
And honestly, I wouldn’t want them to disappear completely.
Those moments remind me that Bob mattered. The life we built mattered. The love we shared mattered.
One of the greatest lessons grief has taught me is that our hearts can hold more than one truth at a time. I can love the life I have today and still miss Bob. I can be grateful for the man who shares my life now while cherishing the memories of the man who shared my life then. I can celebrate today’s blessings while occasionally feeling sadness when something reminds me of yesterday.
I have learned that grief is not something we “get over”; it is something we integrate into our lives as part of our story.
Those truths do not compete with one another. They simply reflect a life that has known both love and loss.
If you find yourself caught off guard by a memory years later, give yourself grace. You are not moving backward, and you are not failing at grief. You are simply remembering someone who helped shape your life. That is part of loving deeply, and there is nothing wrong with that.
With peace and blessings,
Jeni
Resources to Support You
The First Days: Coping with Life After Loss – for those in early grief
My Journey as a Widow: A Widow’s First Journal – for reflection and healing
10 Ways to Move Forward After Loss – free download
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