A few months before Rick died, we sat and talked about all those that death had claimed in our lives.
Family, friends, co-workers, acquaintances.
We tried to count as we remembered each one, and somewhere around 150 we lost count. – Sadly, there have been many more since Rick died.
There are those who say we could not have lost that many, for we could not have known that many.
Rick was from a very large family, so am I.
We had an extensive circle of friends and those who were closer than family.
Each one was very unique in our lives – the love and friendship we shared, the laughter we enjoyed.
Therefore, each one gone leaves a very unique grief of loss and emptiness to the heart and soul.
As much as I have loved each of these, as much as I have grieved and mourned for each one, as much as they have changed my life by being a part of me - -
No one has affected me the way that Rick did & has.
His love for me, his choosing me to be his best friend and his wife.
The life we shared, the love we made, and the laughter that carried us through every breath we took and every move we made.
And his death.
I’ve heard it said that grief is like being on a slow-moving train, and you are waiting for it to come to a stop, so you can get off.
It’s also like a dream that you cannot wake up from – it goes on and on and on.
Grief has a way of creeping up on me, silently, with no warning, and grabbing me by the throat.
When it does, a thousand or more memories flood into my heart, mind and soul.
Most of these times my breath is taken from me and often tears stream down my face.
These days, more than not, it happens when I am alone – rather than under the pressuring eyes of the world around me.
This is the grief that becomes part of your story when you have lost someone you love, someone you just knew you would get to spend the rest of your life with.
It is a grief unlike the initial mourning.
It is a grief that makes you feel untethered.
As you realize there is no one now holding you to the ground, so you have to figure out how to do your own holding of yourself.
There is a strange loneliness in this grief.
A strong and overwhelming sense of being separate.
Not just separated from the one you love by death – but being separate from those around you.
And being separated from the person you were – with them.
Rick cared where I was, what I was doing.
He loved me dearly.
His eyes lit up when I walked into the room.
His hand would reach out to touch mine.
He looked for me in a place filled with people.
He missed me when we were not together.
And I did this for him, too.
I still do.
I find myself wondering where he is, what he is doing.
If he really is ok.
Does he need or want anything.
Who is taking care of him now that I cannot?
My eyes search for him –
- In the sunrises and sunsets that he loved so much.
- In those moments of the gloaming of the day – that last breath of daylight before darkness takes over.
- In the birds that swoop low over the fields, and sing from the trees.
- In the eyes of our children and grandchildren, and in their mannerisms that remind me so much of him.
- In the midst of people, perhaps just a glimpse of him.
- In a store, is he just around the corner, waiting to surprise me?
- And in a thousand other ways, I still search.
Rick is missing from me.
And in that – there is a loneliness that I have no words to describe.
It is a loneliness that has become my constant companion over the time since he’s been gone.
For a long time, I fought against the loneliness.
But no matter how hard I fought, it was there.
Always.
So now, I simply let it be.
I no longer fear the loneliness.
And I no longer fight against it.
Loneliness is a messenger that points me in the direction of my heart.
And Rick is my heart.
He’s been my heart since I was 10 years old – that’s when he took it 😉
And he never gave it back – not even when he left.
The loneliness and longing are my connections now to Rick.
That’s what he left.
Grief, loneliness and longing, do not shrink simply because the calendar pages turn from days to years.
They do not follow a timeline – yours or mine.
There is not a “less broken”, “less raw”, “less grief-stricken” – just because it has been longer than yesterday since Rick died.
The world has not stopped for my broken heart – not in 2015, not in 2025.
It never will.
My love for Rick has not faded, nor has my grief disappeared.
My tears do not dry because the date Rick took my heart feels so far away.
Love never ends.
And grief doesn’t vanish.
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