Feb. 5, 2021
On February 3, 2018, I became part of a club no one wants to join—losing my husband left me a young widow and a single parent, navigating a profound sense of loss that I never anticipated. Over the years, I’ve come to understand grief’s many facets, how it transforms and shifts, offering new perspectives with each passing year.
The first year of widowhood was, understandably, filled with “firsts.” First anniversaries, first birthdays without my partner, first Father’s Day, and even first Thanksgivings. Each day served as a reminder of where I was one year prior, and I spent much of that time struggling to adjust to this new, heart-wrenching reality.
Year two hit hard with the sobering realization that surviving year one didn’t come with a reward. It became clear that the painful “firsts” would be followed by “seconds” and, worse yet, by a future that would be forever altered. Year two was about accepting that loss is a permanent state; there’s no going back.
In year three, I finally found my footing. I learned to breathe again and realized that despite the grief that lingered, I was standing strong. The ground beneath me was stabilizing, albeit not entirely solid. Yet, I discovered an inner strength I didn’t know I possessed, allowing me to raise my gaze from the floor.
Now, as I embark on year four, a year marked by the pandemic, I can already sense that this year will be filled with guilt. Guilt about exploring new relationships, creating new happy memories with my children that don’t always include the phrase, “I wish Daddy was here, too.” There’s guilt in feeling okay on days when the weight of grief isn’t suffocating.
As February 3 approached, the memories of my husband’s last days replayed in my mind—the harrowing conversations with doctors, the moment I had to tell our children that their dad was dying, and the final breaths we shared. Yet, this year, those memories don’t crush me as they once did. Yes, they still bring tears to my eyes, but they lack the same intensity. The past still holds weight, but it’s not enough to overwhelm me.
Intellectually, I understand my husband would want our family to thrive. If given the choice, he would encourage me to embrace life and happiness, as his family’s joy was always his priority. Yet, grief often transcends intellect; it’s deeply rooted in our emotions. What I feel is guilt—because if I’m not consumed by these memories, what am I left with? Just wisps of recollections and a grief that isn’t all-encompassing? That feels inadequate.
I never anticipated that as the darkest days of grief began to fade, I would experience another loss—the sense that I might be leaving behind a part of him by moving forward. This guilt stems from the notion that letting go of the heaviness of grief may mean letting go of him.
But I remind myself that moving forward doesn’t equate to leaving him behind. It’s not about moving on or away; instead, it’s about honoring his memory by building a life where my children and I can thrive. So, while year four may be characterized by guilt, it can also be a year of love—a love that endures regardless of how grief manifests itself.
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Summary:
Year four of widowhood brings a complex mix of emotions, particularly guilt, as one begins to heal and move forward while still cherishing memories of the departed. While the first years are filled with stark reminders of loss, the later years can challenge the widow or widower to embrace new experiences without forgetting their loved one. This journey underscores that moving forward doesn’t mean leaving behind; rather, it honors the love that endures.
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