The Things I Leave Untouched
Since my husband died suddenly in August 2021, I’ve intentionally avoided many specific things—people, restaurants, songs, TV shows, entire neighborhoods, and even certain highways and streets. It feels as though all of those things died with him.
Every so often, I wonder if I should make myself experience some of them again as part of my healing journey.
Then another thought creeps in: Why rock the boat? I’ve gotten along just fine without any of those things.
Part of me wants to preserve them along with his memory. Experiencing them now, without him, might create new memories and feelings around them and somehow lessen the direct connection I still have to him.
Avoiding those places and experiences may also feel like a way of paying homage to him.
What Time Has Taught Me
Some things, however, I couldn’t avoid. Certain memories and experiences remained woven into everyday life, and facing them hurt deeply for a long time.
Looking back, I realize that repeated exposure slowly changed my relationship with that pain. I kept moving forward, and over time the sting became dull.
I learned this lesson long before I lost my husband.
In 2003, I became pregnant for the first time and tragically lost our baby when I was six and a half months along. At the time, I felt certain that the pain would never go away. For a long while, I couldn’t talk about that loss without becoming emotional and breaking down.
Then one day, I told someone the story and noticed something unexpected: I was calm. My voice didn’t tremble or crack. I had survived enough days, shared the story enough times, and carried the loss long enough that its sharp edges had softened.
I remember thinking, Wow. I never believed this day would come.
That loss taught me one of the most important lessons of my life: there is still love and joy in our future.
At the time, I couldn’t imagine that being true. It was my first experience with profound grief and tragedy. As the years passed and I found myself talking about that loss without the same visceral pain, I learned that healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means learning to carry our losses differently.
Over time, I learned that healing doesn’t mean forgetting. In fact, many grief experts note that our relationship with loss changes over time rather than disappearing altogether. (Mayo Clinic’s guide to grief and loss, The American Psychological Association’s information on grief)
Trusting the Future Again
That experience taught me to trust that I would feel happiness again. Love would return. Laughter would return. Joy would return.
Now, as I approach the fifth anniversary of my husband’s death, I notice the same thing happening again.
These days, I feel calm. I feel happy. I’m even excited about my life and my future.
So, do I need to watch Law & Order? Or listen to Dave Matthews? Or drive through our old neighborhood to prove that I am healing?
No. Not right now, anyway.
Those things will still be there if I ever decide to walk down that memory road again.
And maybe knowing that is enough.
If you’re walking your own path through grief and widowhood, organizations like Hope for Widows Foundation and What’s Your Grief offer support and community.
Anna Alvarado is an artist and storyteller creating vibrant, culturally rooted work that centers healing, self-love, and connection.
