Before my husband fell ill, life felt like a beautifully woven tapestry, full of vibrant colors and joyful moments. Like many who enjoy a comfortable life, I often took for granted just how wonderful everything was. In the wake of his passing, I find myself frequently pondering, “What did life look like before his illness?” To seek clarity, I turned to my Google calendar to retrace those days.
In the first week of October, just prior to the onset of his stomach pain, my calendar was a reflection of everyday life filled with events like “Dad chaperoning a field trip,” “autumn school picnic,” “guitar lessons,” and “dinner with friends.” It was so… normal.
Looking back through my calendar led me on a quest for answers about his condition. I spent a good chunk of time trying to recall a particular birthday party my child attended, questioning whether my husband was bedridden that day. I began reaching out to friends about backyard gatherings, wondering if they were aware of my husband’s struggles by a specific time. When did things take a turn for the worse? At what moment did my life irrevocably change?
It’s tempting to pinpoint January 9th, the day he passed, as the moment my world shattered, and while that’s accurate, the reality is the tipping point likely came earlier, around November 29th. My husband returned from the hospital with news from a scan that hinted at cancer. After a conversation with my father, a retired doctor, we were told it could likely be stage IV cancer. Yet, we held onto hope, believing it couldn’t possibly be as dire as it seemed.
After that call, I left him at home and headed to a friend’s house to pick up my kids. On the way, I called my sister to wish her a happy birthday, deliberately avoiding any mention of our medical crisis. About an hour later, she called back, tears in her voice—my father had shared the news with her.
My sister is a strong person, an ER nurse who has faced the harsh realities of life and death. Seeing her cry resonated with me deeply; I understood that we were confronting something truly terrifying. I can vividly recall standing in my friend’s daughter’s room, surrounded by stuffed animals, grappling with the gravity of our situation.
I kept my fears to myself that night; my husband was already anxious, and we needed to survive the evening. We fell asleep holding hands, although I struggled to find rest. Thus began the nightmare that unfolded over the next six weeks, followed by two and a half additional months. Just four months ago, my life felt normal—was it just four months, or did I need to go even further back, to when my husband was well?
Perhaps I should rewind to late September, when we enjoyed a camping trip with friends, watching our kids joyfully ride scooters under the autumn sun. That weekend was filled with bliss, and I cherish those memories, even as I struggle to recall the last time I genuinely felt at ease. Life was routine, filled with simple pleasures—mornings of Cheerios and mismatched socks, kitchen dance parties, and logistical discussions. I never fully appreciated those moments; they simply were my life.
Now, that life has changed drastically. How do I navigate this new reality? How can I get through days that are filled with reminders of what once was, such as memories on Facebook or needing help with a burnt-out light bulb? When my kids do something adorable, who will share in that joy with me?
The truth is, I’m unsure. I feel like I’m back in that moment when I first brought my child home from the hospital, overwhelmed and uncertain, but infinitely sadder. At least then, I had my husband’s support, and we were part of a community of new parents stumbling through it together.
This blog serves as my outlet, a way to process what lies ahead. I’ve discovered that writing helps me connect the dots of my life, both before and after my husband’s passing. It allows me to communicate with those who genuinely care about my family and me, and who want to understand how we are coping during these challenging times.
Ultimately, I’m moving forward because I have no other choice. Life continues, and I must adapt.
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In summary, life after loss is a complex journey of finding a new rhythm. While the past can never be reclaimed, I strive to embrace each day and find meaning in the little things.