Imagine you’re driving in your car, enjoying the scenery. It’s a beautiful sunny day and you’ve been looking forward to this trip. You’re happy about being halfway to your destination and singing along with the radio, when – suddenly – the car next to you swerves in front of you and slams on the brakes. You slam on your brakes, try to avoid hitting the car and swerve off the road. You’re fine. The car is fine. But the serenity is gone. The dreamy quality of your nice soothing drive has been interrupted and it takes quite a while to get back to a calm state. The whole experience is jarring, puts a whole new perspective on the drive and on life. You realize how fleeting happiness is, how close to death we are at any second, how one second everything is great and the next it’s not.
That’s life a couple of years into widowhood.
I’ve gotten to the place I never thought possible. I go for days now not thinking about Rick. Two and a half years – that’s what it took. Two and a half years after a twenty year marriage, and I no longer think constantly about the man who was my whole life. I’m driving along a new road now. I’m looking towards the future with hope and happiness. I feel serene and sometimes even excited about this new journey. And – although the ride is sometimes bumpy – most of the time it’s smooth sailing. And then suddenly it’s not.
It could be a trigger word, or a favorite place, or a photo – or nothing at all, that brings up a memory. My friend’s dad is in the hospital. My friend told me he has a low hemoglobin count. Hemoglobin, there’s a trigger word. It immediately brought back a rush of painful memories. I felt the desperation of watching Rick suffer through chemo treatments and shots and radiation treatments. The word hemoglobin triggers memories of Rick with the IV drips, smiling across from me so bravely, ashen gray and sickly. Hours of hoping and watching as he sat silently playing with his phone – or joking with nurses and attendants. All in vain. One word brought back statistics and sadness, learning about how many ways things could go wrong, hoping things would be normal again. And finally things were. He was in remission. But normal only lasted a couple of days, maybe a couple of weeks and then everything that could go wrong went wrong and normal never happened again, and he was gone.
And all of those awful memories were triggered by one word.
Or perhaps it’s a Friday morning and I’m at work. I’m thinking about the date I have that night with the guy I’ve been dating for a month. I’m looking forward to seeing him again because I enjoy our conversations and it’s been a couple of months since I found someone that I want to keep seeing. I take a few minutes to check my email. And there it is… an email saying Macaroni Grill has a special, and just like that car swerving in front of me, my tranquility is jarred. Suddenly I’m sitting across from Rick clinking wine glasses, toasting our evening while we wait to be served our peppadew pepper appetizer. I see us simply enjoying being together, looking into each other’s eyes, and talking – never dreaming that our Thursday evening Macaroni Grill date nights would ever end.
All those memories come rushing in and that feeling of shock returns – just fleetingly – it can’t be true! He can’t be gone, can he? And now, two and a half years later, all of those times with him seem so long ago. A bygone era of my life. And I remember shortly after he died, dreading that this would happen. That someday, he would slip so far into my past, that he’d no longer be a part of my everyday thoughts. Yet I also hoped for time to heal the grief of those early months, because it was too much to bear.
So here I am now, halfway through the third year without him. And most of the time, as I drive along on this new journey, the road is smooth and the drive is pleasant. I’m enjoying the scenery, and the drive, and hoping to get to some new goal, a promising destination. Most of the time no car swerves in front of me, and I don’t hit too many speed bumps. Most of the time life is okay now.
I guess the point of this blog is to give hope to those of you in the earlier stages of grief. To the newly widowed who can’t imagine waking up and not thinking about your husband the moment you open your eyes. Or to those of you who still reach out to him in bed and are stunned not feeling him next to you. Those of you who lie awake longing to cuddle him once again in the night. I just want you to know that you, too, will reach this place someday. It might be two years for you, it might be five, but you’ll get here, too.
And it’s a relief not to feel the constant pain and longing, but it’s a double-edged sword. Because the bad part is NOT thinking about him also makes me sad. I was afraid I would get to this point. I was afraid I would forget him.
But, of course, the truth is, I will never forget him. I no longer think about him constantly, but I also realize how much a part of me he still is. I find his words coming out of my mouth when I least expect it. I find myself looking at something that was significant to both of us and saying, Look at that Rick! Wouldn’t you love seeing this today?
I realize that I barely notice my habit of talking to him throughout my day, because it’s so much a part of me I can no longer separate it from myself. In reality, I talk to him quite a bit – and it no longer saddens me that I can’t hear him answer. I’m used to the silence now. I just know he’s there.
No, I think I was stupid to worry about this. I will never forget that man. Or his love. Sometimes I get a little sideswiped with grief, but mainly I have a serenity about it now. It’s hard to explain… I’m a single woman, but I will never NOT be part of a couple again. I joined with someone who will never be gone from me. No matter what my future holds and where my life takes me, he’s going with me on the ride.
About Katherine Billings-Palmer
On August 13, 2017, I lost the love of my life. Rick Palmer and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary one month before he died at age 63 of complications from treatments for small cell lung cancer. He was my partner and soulmate, the love I had been looking for and finally found at age 40.
Rick was a talented writer and web designer and, in 2002, we began our own web and print design business. We worked together building the business and enjoyed traveling, writing, and playing together. Our dream was to spend our golden years together doing more of the same, but in the ten months from diagnosis to death, that dream shattered.
After Rick’s death, I quickly realized that the enormity of his loss was too much for me to handle on my own, so I began grief therapy. I also began writing through my grief in a journal of feelings, thoughts, memories, and poetry. As I navigate my new life alone, I share my journey and my efforts towards creating my “new normal” on my personal blog: The Writing Widow. I’m also on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.
I've published three books about my grief journey: my poetry book, I Wanted to Grow Old With You: A Widow's First Year of Grief in Poetry, and two books of poetry and prose - A Widow's Words: Grief, Reflection, Prose, and Poetry - The First Year" and A Widow's Words, Year Two: Grief, Reflection, Prose, Poetry, and Hope."
I also published a memoir: "My Story: A Memoir in Poetry and Prose." All my books are available in ebook and print versions on Amazon.com.
Today is 2 years since losing my Cowboy 38 years married I feel sad today. Devastated …. I “see” him. Hear him. He seems to suddenly be in the kitchen. Or the yard. He had Huntingtons & Parkinson’s. I had him home and what a journey ! All of you popped up on my phone just now. Blessed. Blessed to read your stories. Pain. Sadness. And ……. Joy will come. Hope. New laughter. We did good. We walked with them & became their Voice , when they no longer could. I’ve been in grief counseling and will continue. Each of you are precious. Sharing most painful things that took your loved ones.
I am just 3 months in since my soulmate and wife of 49 years passed. She had been in cancer treatment for 14 years, so we had reconciled with the knowledge that her life was going to end soon. A week before she died, her oncologist told us she had 3-6 months to live. We desperately did not want her to suffer, and knew that was in her near future. A pulmonary embolism took her May 4, 2024. She died in my arms. She got her last wish – it was a quick and relatively painless death. I think I’ve handled it all pretty well, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less. I have a childhood friend who lost her husband 4 months earlier. We have teamed up together and we have brought each other laughter and joy in the midst of our suffering.
I lost my husband on MARCH 6,2021 it has been a tough journey . I tried to move on in life it just didn’t work out in my favor. Then 2 years prior I lost my mother in law in May 19,2023. I had a close bond with them both and I miss them dearly . I want to know does grief get better with time?
I lost Denny July 10 2021. I am months away from three years. I seem to have fallen into a dark hole over a week now. I just am tired of missing him. I don’t know if it gets better. Right now it doesn’t feel that way.
I lost my husband on MARCH 6,2021 it has been a tough journey . I tried to move on in life it just didn’t work out in my favor. Then 2 years prior I lost my mother in law in May 19,2023. I had a close bond with them both and I miss them dearly . I want to know does grief get better with time? I’m feeling so alone down here while their both reunited in heaven.
I’m Tami
In October three years into losing my husband, I was keeping ridiculously busy with my job, Ebay store and public art projects with an art project due late November. I co-created a short film of my collages from the train graffiti, nature pictures and images of live musicians and had clips of local bands and Johnny’s band in tribute to his life. My husband was a blues musician/ artist and owned an online collectible ephemera store. I attended many of his performances over the years and found embracing live blues and jazz music, my own art and running his store were healing for me. In October I felt ready to stop counseling but early November a train of anxiety hit me daily. My husband became ill, was diagnosed with cancer and left us in one week later on Thanksgiving day. I had hoped to bring him home and his favorite holiday. My counselor reminded me we are all unique and there is no timeline. Although Christmas holidays were tough they don’t compare to Anniversary and Birthday months for me. There are days now I can remember his laugh, jokes, comments and play music he loved. People still introduce me as Mrs. Texas Johnnyboy at music venues. I am in my early 60’s with a big circle of friends but honestly quite lonely. I loved Texas Johnnyboy and he was such a dynamic guy but I can’t envision anyone else in my life.
thank you for sharing…every story helps a little. I lost my love 2 years and 2 months ago…I still think of him every day and I still often have those grief surges, but I also welcome the grief in a sense, as that is my only connection to him now…grief is the new relationship I have with him, that tells me I love him and miss him. All I can say is that it’s a little easier to be in the world these days…I am yet to feel excitement for something, but I do feel a glimmer of hope for the future now and again. I, too, never fear I will forget him…that wouldn’t be possible, however the more time that passes, the sadder I feel about that…grief is complex and complicated…but we cannot have love without grief, they are one and the same.
2 years and one month ago. I’m 33 now… with four kids under 13. I charged through these 2 years. I don’t know how long until I break more completely. Finding new love has many griefs of its own. You are so right when you talked about going along just fine and then all of the sudden… and that feels ok by days 2… but by days four you really start to wonder if you will ever come out of it. what will a “normal” life ever look like again? It is looking like a very long 50-60 years from now. Thank you for sharing this bumpy road.
my dave died almost exactly two years ago. no warning. one minute, my husband of 40 years was working in the yard, the next minute I was a widow. yesterday the sound of a songbird broke my heart. Dave died on a beautiful spring morning.
will i ever be happy again?
Hi Katherine,
I’m sorry for your loss. I just started year nine on this journey and I still get knocked down by those grief triggers once in a while. You’re fine one minute and then a trigger suddenly throws you back into grief and sadness. But I, too, want to give hope to other widows and widowers and say that, over time, the pain has lessened and it gets easier to crawl back out of that darkness. And life can be pretty good again.