Hey friends,
I wanted to share something personal with you. Four years ago, I lost my husband to brain cancer, and the journey through grief has been a wild ride. In that first year, I couldn’t even bring myself to say the word “died.” I tiptoed around it, writing blog posts filled with euphemisms. Certain days—especially birthdays and anniversaries—were gut-wrenching, while others felt jagged and painful. Honestly, every day just hurt, and it felt like time was mocking me.
Slowly, as I navigated life as a widow and a solo parent, I found that things got a bit easier. I could finally say, “my husband died” out loud. Sure, those special dates still stung, but some days in between were starting to feel okay. The definition of “okay” had shifted, but it began to make sense.
To be honest, part of me felt guilty admitting that some of those heavier days didn’t feel as crushing anymore. But I hope that brings a little comfort to anyone who’s in the early phases of grief.
There’s this saying that time heals all wounds. While it sounds nice, in the world of grief, it often doesn’t hold true. I’d argue that time doesn’t heal; it softens. If you’re fortunate, it may dull the sharpest edges, but sometimes, it doesn’t do much at all.
Just the other day, a friend didn’t show up when I needed them, and it hit me hard. I felt alone. Maybe it was a miscommunication, or perhaps they simply couldn’t be there. The reason didn’t matter; what struck me was the isolation I felt. That feeling unraveled me—it felt overwhelmingly heavy, almost as if I was back in those early days of grief.
When I checked the date, everything clicked. November 15, 2017. That was the day when I felt utterly alone. My husband’s health was deteriorating, and we’d spent hours at the hospital, only to be told we needed to stay overnight. The doctor, with a heavy heart, implied my husband couldn’t miss our son’s sixth birthday. It broke me to realize that while he was physically present, he was slipping away mentally.
Four years later, that memory is still a wound. November 15 doesn’t get easier; instead, it feels sharper. Some wounds, like this one, don’t heal with time. They can become even more pronounced, making the slightest reminder feel raw and fresh.
I know this might sound heavy, but maybe healing isn’t the only goal. Maybe it’s okay if time doesn’t heal all wounds. Sometimes, it’s enough to give ourselves grace for those scars that just won’t fade. When I recognized the date and how deeply grief can reside in our bodies, I took a moment to breathe. I allowed myself to feel that weight but also remembered that I’ve grown since then. The version of me in 2021 is okay with being alone and finds strength in solitude.
So while time may not heal every wound, it can teach us to embrace our feelings and give ourselves the grace to navigate them.
And hey, if you’re on a journey of your own—whether it’s through grief or maybe thinking about starting a family—you might find helpful resources. Check out Make a Mom for at-home insemination options, including their reusable kits that boost fertility. Also, if you want to connect with others, consider joining this free sperm donor matching group. For more insights on how at-home insemination works, visit here. And for more resources on pregnancy, this site is fantastic. If you’re exploring connections, don’t forget to check out our other post on dating too!
Take care of yourselves, friends.
Summary:
Time may not heal all wounds, especially when it comes to grief. Instead, it can soften the pain and allow for moments of understanding and growth. Embracing feelings and giving ourselves grace can be just as important as seeking healing. Alongside grief, there are resources available for those considering starting a family, including at-home insemination options.
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