There is a deep loneliness that encompasses my soul lately. It is similar to a shadow that follows you on a partly sunny day. It’s always there. I’m keenly aware of the sunshine. But the longing for my husband and my family of four is pronounced.  Last week I received random texts from both of my grown daughters, “I really miss Dad”. Where is this emptiness that all three of us are experiencing coming from?


 Is it the change of seasons?

Like an anxious child at a slumber party my soul aches with homesickness for the familiar rhythm of my marriage and family. And like that child who is longing for the security and comfort of home? I am embarrassed to admit to the world that I am still incredibly grieved and lonely without my husband. None of this makes sense to me because just a month ago, for the most part, I thought I was okay. Going into month fourteen I was winning at life.

C.S. Lewis describes one facet of grief this way:


“For in grief nothing ‘stays put’. One keeps on emerging from a phase,
but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in
circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral? But if a spiral, am I  going up or
down it? How often–will it be always?–how often will the vast emptiness astonish
me like a complete novelty and make me say, ‘I never realized my loss till this moment’?
The same leg is cut off time after time.”

I recently spent a wonderful evening with another widow and a divorcee. We surmized  that certain songs, holidays, geographical  areas, holidays, smells and  seasons trigger  so many memories that it can be overwhelming.  Many days we find ourselves in disbelief, almost an out of body experience

“Is this really my life”? “How did I get here”?

It’s as if the brain and soul can not tangibly intertwine. And maybe they aren’t suppose too? Maybe that is part of the wonder of grief. Maybe God knew we could only process so much at one time. Maybe He wants us to savor and relive moments in time that we would have otherwise forgotten. Maybe he wants us to recount moments that at the time we took for granted. Maybe in order to live  we have to die to the old while reliving it, cherishing it, loving it, recognizing it for what is was. To be thankful that we were privileged enough to have a life well lived full of memories.


The seasons, yes, they are changing.


Elizabeth was married to her college sweet heart for over 27 years. She is the mother of two beautiful grown daughters, writer by degree, Eastern North Carolinian, learning to walk by faith as a widow post ALS with a Golden Retriever named Henry. You can find Elizabeth on Instragam @elizabethwwooten or on her blog