This is part five of a five-week Monday series exploring what grief does to the body, through my own experience and the research behind it.

This series shares my personal experience of grief and the published research I found along the way. It isn’t medical advice. If you’re experiencing chest pain, fainting, or other concerning symptoms, please seek medical care and don’t assume they’re grief-related.

I’d like to preface this by saying that this is deeply personal and something I wasn’t planning on sharing. But since my purpose in writing is to help those grieving, I’ll write what I can.

78 days later. An October morning just like any other, or so I thought. I was working on some financial analyses when I got up to get a cup of tea. Walking out of my office, something felt off. There was a sudden feeling of lightheadedness. I put my hand out on a cabinet to catch my balance, then slowly fell to the ground, completely passing out. Minutes later I woke up to someone saying my name and tapping my cheek. One of the medical assistants, who sits on the other side of my office, heard the noise and ran over to find me on the floor.

Per protocol, public safety was called. I was told that I had to go to the ER because I was out for about 5 minutes. I work at an academic medical center, so perfect timing. I was there for about 4 hours, the usual questions and tests. The ER doc wanted to admit me to get an MRI, but since my bloodwork and EKG all looked fine I decided to sign myself out against medical advice. At that point I didn’t tell the boys or my family, because all they would do was worry.

I am fortunate to work with doctors who were genuinely concerned and wanted answers, so I ended up getting a multitude of tests done.

So what was it?

It happened once more, with additional dizzy spells over the next 8 months. At my first visit, the neurologist said it was vasovagal syncope. He recommened seeing a cardiologist just to be safe. EKGs, an EEG, echocardiogram and CT all came back normal. After all the tests, it was determined that the syncope was caused by stress. The stress from grief.

Vasovagal syncope is the most common type of fainting in adults. Pain or emotional upset can trigger it, and in my case it was stress (1). It starts with the autonomic nervous system, the part of your body that runs your heart rate and blood pressure without you having to think about it. When it overreacts, your blood pressure drops and your brain doesn’t get enough blood for a short time, and that’s what happened to me (1). The stress hormones adrenaline and noradrenaline help set that reflex off (2), and one review even found a link between this kind of fainting and psychological distress (3). Mary-Frances O’Connor says heart rate and blood pressure tend to run higher in the first months of grief (4), and my first episode came 78 days in.

For five weeks I’ve walked you through what my body has been through this past year. Most people have seen sadness. The rest happened below the surface. My tests all came back normal, and I’m grateful for that. But normal doesn’t mean the same as it once did. If you’re feeling any of the things I felt, the fatigue, the brain fog, the racing heart, you are not alone. It is your body and mind dealing with the loss. If you are feeling off, get checked, and know that grief can be the cause. The medical visits, along with therapy have helped. But as waves of grief continue to flow, I have learned to expect the unexpected.

For all of you who are supporting those that are grieving, I hope this gives you insight into what we are going through. When you ask how we are doing, go beyond the emotional feelings to include the physical ones as well.

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Sources

1. StatPearls. Vasovagal Episode. StatPearls Publishing, NCBI Bookshelf. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/sites/books/NBK470277/ (add authors and date from the page)

2. Abu-Ghazaleh D, Taylor DA, Roberts L, Singh I, Cruzat V, Rose’Meyer RB. The Pathophysiology of Vasovagal Syncope and New Approaches to its Pharmacological Treatment. 2025. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/10742484251351140 (confirm the journal on the page)

3. Anxiety and Depression as Risk Factors for Vasovagal Syncope and Potential Treatment Targets: A Systematic Review. Cureus. doi:10.7759/cureus.32793. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC9858696/ (add authors and year from the page)

4. St-Germain K. Ep #310: The Grieving Body: An Interview with Mary-Frances O’Connor. The Widowed Mom Podcast. May 5, 2025. https://www.coachingwithkrista.com/the-grieving-body-mary-frances-oconnor/

My eyes opened to the darkness. A glance at the clock next to my bed: 1am. I switched sides, tossing and turning my way back to sleep. I would look at the empty cold space beside me that replaced the warmth that was my comfort. Eyes open again to see that it was only 2am. And it repeated for the next few hours. That's what my first six months looked like. I slept but couldn't rest. Waking up hour after hour, leaving me exhausted during the day. I tried all the things: tart cherry juice, melatonin, magnesium, chamomile tea. Nothing seemed to help.

Grief researcher Mary-Frances O’Connor, mentioned that a partner acts like an external pacemaker for your body. When they’re gone, your body has to figure out how to function on its own, and most people develop insomnia for a while (1). A large review of the research found that insomnia is common after a loss (2). O’Connor describes the part I lived. I learned to fall asleep without someone next to me who I could hear and smell and feel (1). A review in a neuroscience journal suggests that higher cortisol after a loss may keep the mind in a state of arousal that gets in the way of sleep (3). The good news, according to O’Connor, is that sleep returns for almost everyone by a year and often well before that (1). Mine slightly eased around six months, which didn’t make any of those nights shorter while I was lying there.

There were a crazy storm of feelings that came through during the restless nights. Sometimes I don’t think I could even pinpoint what hurt me most. Was it moving my arm over reflexively to find nothing there to hold on to? The sound of his breathing was gone. So was the tug of the covers in the middle of the night. I don’t know. It is probably a combination of things that ultimately lead back to one thing. My safe space and warmth gone, leaving a blanket as the only thing i could hold on to.

Join me next Monday as I close this series with the impact I least expected: fainting.

This series shares my personal experience of grief and the published research I found along the way. It isn’t medical advice. If you’re experiencing any concerning symptoms, please seek medical care and don’t assume they’re grief-related.

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Sources

1. St-Germain K. Ep #310: The Grieving Body: An Interview with Mary-Frances O’Connor. The Widowed Mom Podcast. May 5, 2025. https://www.coachingwithkrista.com/the-grieving-body-mary-frances-oconnor/

2. Lancel M, Stroebe M, Eisma MC. Sleep disturbances in bereavement: A systematic review. Sleep Medicine Reviews. 2020. https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S1087079220300745 (confirm authors, volume, and pages on the page)

3. Buckley T, Sunari D, Marshall A, et al. Physiological correlates of bereavement and the impact of bereavement interventions. Dialogues in Clinical Neuroscience. 2012. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC3384441/ (confirm the author list on the page)

Late-night practices and games and early morning coffee runs. So it begins. Yes, it’s hockey season again, and with JV, Varsity, and Club schedules, our calendar is packed tight. It’s chaotic, and completely full, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s hard to believe that a decade ago, we knew nothing about the sport. That all changed the day our oldest came home and said, “Mom and Dad, I want to play hockey.” He was already 15, so we glanced at each other with matching looks of surprise, then looked back at him. We said sure, but since he only had basic skating skills, we gently reminded him that skating lessons would need to come first.

He already had it completely planned out. He had 5:00 AM private coaching lessons before school. He had spoken to the high school coach about practicing with the team to get his skills up. And he did just that. He put in countless practice hours with the team and earned his spot on the ice.

That determination inspired his younger brother to follow in his footsteps. It inspired us to learn every rule of the game so we could officially earn our titles as hockey parents. Eventually, our eldest went on to play college hockey, leaving us running from rink to rink. We often switched our team gear in the car between games so we could be in the stands for every single one.

As parents, we truly loved the game. Their dad especially loved being right in the action - volunteering in the penalty box, or cheering from the glass. His favorite was running the scoreboard.

When everything changed, it was our hockey family that stepped in. They showed up during our darkest moments, in ways large and small. At the service, we were overwhelmed with gratitude to see familiar faces from every chapter of our hockey journey. Former teammates and coaches and even the college coaches and players traveled to stand by our side. During the season, there were times when I couldn’t hold in the emotions. When the tears came, so did the hockey moms, with a hug and a tissue.

Last season, we added patches to the jerseys that read: “Dad, Forever in Our Hearts.” He didn’t get to experience the second round of high school hockey, so it was a simple way to make it feel like he was there with us. This season we will carry his warmth with us into every cold rink.

To our hockey family - the parents, coaches, and teammates who were there when we needed it most and continue to show up: thank you for every warm hug in a freezing arena. I don’t think you realize how every ride lightened the pressure and that every quiet moment of support felt like a lifeline. We love you and are forever grateful.

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I think that the most difficult part of grief for me, aside from losing the love of my life, is losing part of me. I am not the same person I was before. The largest piece of it is my ability to do things. Since I was a child, I strived to be the best and I was able to live up to the expectations I set for myself. Whether it was school, extracurriculars, a random activity or work, I did it well.

But starting from that awful day, things changed. Suddenly, I couldn’t remember things that should have been easy to remember. I would have to write things down to make sure that I didn’t forget. My brain’s ability to process things just slowed down. Calculations and thought processes that previously came naturally started to take time. It started to feel like I was always in a daze. Things were foggy and everything felt like it just took more effort.

There were times when I asked myself what was wrong with me. I felt stupid for the first time in my life. This is what is called “widow brain.” The fog hits at random times, sometimes feeling like my mind is working in slow motion. I have walked into a room and ended up just standing there, trying to remember what I came in for. It happens more than you’d think and in various ways.

Widow brain isn’t a medical diagnosis, but experts in the grief community treat it as real. Dr. Lisa Shulman, a neurologist, stated that grief can affect memory, attention and everything that goes along with how the brain processes information. It often goes unnoticed because the person is still getting through their days (1). That was me. I was functioning, so it was hard to see what was really happening underneath it all.

Neuroscientist Mary-Frances O’Connor compares this to a computer running a software update in the background. The brain is trying to update, and the code, which in this case is habit and expectation, has to be rewritten without him in it (2). This update takes place multiple times a day because he used to be part of it.

Another study found that memory in widowed older adults could keep getting worse for up to four years (3). Most of this research is on older adults, yet this describes what I’ve been through. When I first read this research I felt better because I realized it wasn’t just me. But it’s hard to envision that this could continue for years to come.

Join me next Monday as I look at another impact: sleep.

This series shares my personal experience of grief and the published research I found along the way. It isn’t medical advice. If you’re experiencing chest pain, fainting, or other concerning symptoms, please seek medical care and don’t assume they’re grief-related.

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Sources

1. American Brain Foundation. Healing Your Brain After Loss: How Grief Rewires the Brain (featuring Lisa M. Shulman, MD, FAAN). September 29, 2021. https://www.americanbrainfoundation.org/how-tragedy-affects-the-brain/

2. St-Germain K. Ep #170: The Grieving Brain: An Interview with Mary-Frances O’Connor. The Widowed Mom Podcast. August 29, 2022. https://www.coachingwithkrista.com/grieving-brain-mary-frances-oconnor/

3. Zhao Y, Inder B, Kim JS. Spousal bereavement and the cognitive health of older adults in the US: New insights on channels, single items, and subjective evidence. Economics & Human Biology. 2021;43:101055. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ehb.2021.101055

“I’ll never let tears come your way.”

You promised to keep a smile on my face,

but suddenly left me without the comfort of your embrace.

You unknowingly left me drifting in a sea of tears,

as I replay the journey of our shared years.

The tears have brought with them waves of emotion,

some causing grief and others reminding me of your love and devotion.

People keep telling me that time will heal,

but I do not agree with how they feel.

Time will never lessen the devastation

of losing a soulmate - no consolation!

The pain will always remain,

as I think of you over and over again.

And though I ache, I must go on,

face each dusk and greet each dawn,

but I’ll walk this road with quiet pride

with your memory forever by my side.

I also made a vow, now that you’re gone,

to love you still, and to carry on -

a love that death could never erase,

forever held in time and space.

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He was a wonderful cook. I miss seeing him next to the stove, apron on and wooden spoon in his hand. One of my favorites was Chicken Karahi. He never needed a recipe or exact measurements.

This week at work we had a fall potluck and I wanted to make something unique. He was my inspiration. I wanted to recreate that dish. The problem was I had only watched him make it.

So I decided to do a test run. Made a small batch, trying to play back in my mind how he made it. We were always so busy in conversation at that time, I’m not sure I noticed the details. So I tried to think back to his hands and what he was throwing in. Which spices and how much? Just making his dish gave me a moment where he felt near.

I took a bite. Was it like his? Close, but there was a slight difference, something I couldn’t pinpoint.

Took it in today and came back with a completely empty dish. Everyone loved it. I had mentioned to someone that I did my best to recreate his recipe, but it wasn’t the same, and they said, “he would be proud.” Only he would have known what I did wrong. But that comment made the effort worthwhile, because it acknowledged him.

I smiled.

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To explain what was happening, it helps to point out that your body has a hormone called cortisol. It is supposed to rise in the morning and go down through the day. That is what normally gives you a push to get moving. A 2020 review of existing research found that grieving people often don’t have that normal rhythm. It’s flatter than it should be (1). Five minutes on the couch wasn’t a lack of willpower. It was my body running without the hormone that was supposed to be pushing me forward.

His death was sudden, and that matters. A 2025 study on physical symptoms in bereavement found that people who lost a loved one unexpectedly experience significantly more physical symptoms, including fatigue, than those grieving a death that came after a long decline (2). I didn’t see it coming and apprently my body didn’t either.

Sometimes I think about the times before. We had time for coffee, for the boys' practices and games. And somehow I still had time for crafting, for the small things that filled a day without me having to think about them. Now getting through making dinner turns out to be an accomplishment. Even a year out, it still happens.

The first several months, I was running on adrenaline and shock. Auto-pilot felt like doing things out of necessity without even realizing what I was doing. It wasn’t until reality started to set in that the exhaustion caught up with me. Most people would never know that it is still happening.

Join me next Monday as I look at another impact: widow brain.

This series shares my personal experience of grief and the published research I found along the way. It isn’t medical advice. If you’re experiencing concerning symptoms, please seek medical care and don’t assume they’re grief-related.

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Sources

1. Hopf D, Eckstein M, Aguilar-Raab C, Warth M, Ditzen B. Neuroendocrine mechanisms of grief and bereavement: A systematic review and implications for future interventions. Journal of Neuroendocrinology. 2020;32(8):e12887. https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/jne.12887

2. Weeden CL, Reilly NP. The Physical Side of Grief: Physical Symptoms in Bereavement. Illness, Crisis & Loss. 2026;34(2):290-302. https://doi.org/10.1177/10541373251323206

It was forty-eight hours.

Forty-eight hours between the moment I took him to the hospital and the moment he took his last breath.

Despite being in the ICU, my mind wouldn’t let me register the seriousness. I can’t even begin to describe the excruciating reality of those hours. The disbelief, the anger, the pain, the fear - and then, the slow, agonizing realization of what had actually occurred.

Even when the doctors looked at me and said, “You need a miracle.” Even when they asked the devastating question of whether I wanted him to be resuscitated. It still didn’t sink in.

It felt like I was a detached spectator in a theater, watching a horrific movie play out on a screen in front of me. I just kept thinking: It’s fine. He’ll be fine.

Time of death.

Those are three words I will never forget. They are words that still seem entirely unreal. They are the three words that broke me. The words that threw me into an abyss.

I remember hearing them. I knew what they meant, but my mind immediately fought back: What the hell? This can’t be real. We came here so he could get help, get better, and go home. He needs to go home!

The monitor had flatlined but his hand was still warm. I remember thinking, How is this possible? Even at the very end. Even when I said goodbye, during that final, last touch. A kiss on the forehead and his hand in mine. I kept holding it, knowing I would eventually have to let go.

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Grief- it’s a five letter word that encompasses so much. Most of what people see is what plays out in daily interactions. But like an iceberg there is so much below the surface that the average person doesn’t know about. Most see the sadness that comes from missing someone. But take that and multiply it and you still may not get to the various layers that come along with it. As part of this series, I want you to understand the broader impact of grief through my direct experience and the science behind it.

The initial weekend after he passed, the first of the physical impacts hit me. I started to feel a constant pressure on my left side that eventually led to a more pulsating pain and tightness. I ended up at the ER, going through a thorough workup. The EKG and blood test confirmed that it wasn’t a heart problem.

To explain what happened, it is important to mention that acute grief triggers your fight-or-flight system. This activates the autonomic nervous system, which elevates the heart rate, blood pressure and blood glucose levels. My body had produced severe enough symptoms to warrant the hospital visit, and even though it was attributed to “just stress,” research has found that the days after losing a partner carry a measurably higher risk of serious cardiovascular events (1, 2).

That night was unsettling because at the time I had no idea what was happening. They told me it wasn’t my heart, but that left me with more questions about why it happened. The questions didn’t end there. Each new symptom brought more of them, and I was trying to catch up on the science of what was happening to me.

Join me next Monday as I look at another impact: fatigue.

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Sources

1. Mostofsky E, Maclure M, Sherwood JB, Tofler GH, Muller JE, Mittleman MA. Risk of acute myocardial infarction after the death of a significant person in one’s life: the Determinants of Myocardial Infarction Onset Study. Circulation. 2012;125(3):491-496. https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/22230481/

2. Carey IM, Shah SM, DeWilde S, Harris T, Victor CR, Cook DG. Increased risk of acute cardiovascular events after partner bereavement: a matched cohort study. JAMA Internal Medicine. 2014;174(4):598-605. https://jamanetwork.com/journals/jamainternalmedicine/fullarticle/1832196

Last weekend, my middle son happened to see one of his dad’s suits in the closet. It was Michael Kors, with tags still attached. He tried it on, and it was a perfect fit. Among other things he said, “if dad were here, he would have helped me with my tie”, and that was enough to start the tears. I wasn’t expecting them to come, but they did.

Later that day, he showered and got dressed, proudly adding one of his dad’s watches to the ensemble. He looked as sharp as his dad used to.

The afternoon started off with the big group photo sessions. All the teenagers meet at different parks around town to capture memorable moments with their friends. Unfortunately, I couldn’t be there to witness both of my boys. I drove my youngest and his friends. It’s an entire process: stopping for food, meeting at the park for pictures and catching up with friends, another stop for some snacks and drinks and then the drive to school. As a mother it’s nice to be able to experience these moments and see the boys enjoying time with their friends.

But throughout the day I knew we were all missing him. He would have loved to see the boys dressed up and having fun. Having their dad by their side would have meant so much to them and to me. Instead, we leaned on our best memories of him to get us through. The suit on my son’s back and the watch on his wrist kept his dad close all day.

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Friends and family have looked at me surviving the unimaginable and mistaken functioning for strength. But the truth is much less heroic and much more brutal. There was no choice involved here. I did what I had to do because the world didn’t stop turning just because my life shattered. I had to keep functioning because I have three boys who depend on me.

When you have people relying on you for their own survival, collapsing isn’t an option on the menu. I don’t view my life right now as an exercise in strength; I view it as pure survival. I didn’t choose to carry this heavy weight. It was thrown my way without warning, so I responded as best I could.

That survival mode gives the false illusion of stability. Behind the façade of being put together, and being functional could be someone that wants to completely fall apart but can’t. Or they could even be falling apart behind closed doors.

Get ready for a new series next week.

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He wasn’t like other men. I always knew that. He was special - not because of what he did, but because of how he felt things, and wasn’t afraid to show it. He didn’t care what anyone would think. He cared about me, about us. He compromised. He made me laugh all the time with his silly antics. He made me smile. He made me feel like the center of his universe through his thoughtful ways.

We were once walking through Macy’s and they had a Toys R Us section. There was a bench with Geoffrey sitting on it. He casually walked over with this coffee in his hand and sat down on the bench. He didn’t check to see if anyone was watching. He just sat and looked at Geoffrey so naturally, like he was having a conversation with him. He fit perfectly into the scene. I knew him well enough to see the silliness coming, the same way I knew his thoughts before he said them.

This precious connection of heart and mind enabled us to finish each other’s thoughts before they were spoken. He used to catch me knowing what he was thinking, and he’d laugh - “get out of my head,” he’d say, like it was a game we were both winning.

And his voice , the way he said my name, brought me serenity. Even now, when I close my eyes and hear it, some small part of me still feels safe.

We felt each other’s hearts. I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling his.

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This is not just something that I’ve learned from my personal experience. Neuroscience research also supports this. Dr. Mary Frances O’Connor studied how the brain treats a loved one as a permanent piece of its “virtual map.” Modern grief psychology teaches the continuing bonds framework, arguing that healthy grieving does not mean letting go; it means finding a new, enduring way to stay connected.

I have continued to say his name. My reflections and my writing are a few of the ways that I continue to do so, and I encourage those out there who are going through something similar not to be afraid to keep your loved one’s memory alive any way you can.

Join me next week for the last part of this series.

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Fast forward to last summer when I unexpectedly lost my husband. In the overwhelming fog of early grief, I was trying to make sense of a world that had completely shifted. During that time I came across her Facebook page, 72 Acts of Kindness, which is now a non-profit organization dedicated to her son, Colin. I reached out to her because I realized we shared a bond no one ever asks for.

Our heartbreaks looked different in the details. We both carried the unimaginable weight of surviving the loss of someone who meant the world to us. Our pain isn’t the exact same, but we both get hit by triggers and get haunted by the quiet. Time and time again we are forced to deal with the impact of having our loved one ripped away from us.

Grief has a very specific language. It means understanding when someone talks about the haunting quiet in a room. It involves knowing how a simple memory can knock the wind out of you and bring a barrage of tears. Early on I asked her if certain things were triggers for her, and seeing the reaction in her eyes, made me realize that someone else knew how I felt. Eventually you learn to put on a brave face at the grocery store or at your kid’s hockey game, while your heart is breaking underneath it all.

Recently, in a post on her page, she mentioned me and my writing. She wrote:

“We were two strangers suffering who needed to lean on each other. I have not lost my spouse and she has not lost a child but the familiarity of our grief has formed a friendship.”….This woman who I now call friend has started her own writing journey on grief, it’s called Beyond the First Goodbye and can be found on Substack and it might just help you, especially for those who have lost a spouse.”

I wish we had met under better circumstances. But I am fortunate to have found a new friendship - one in which we can lean on each other for support and share feelings that few others can understand. She turns her love for Colin into action through her nonprofit. I channel my love for Omar into writing, trying to help people understand what this type of grief actually feels like.

To Tracey, thank you for holding light for me on the hard nights and reminding me that even when the house is quiet, we are never truly alone. I am so deeply grateful for the lifelong bond that has grown out of our shared heartbreak.

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Text version:

I think about you...

the last time you smiled,

the last time you laughed,

the last time you called,

the last time your eyes found mine,

the last time your hands held mine.

the last time you whispered I love you.

I think about you...

and then -

the silence that followed.

For the most part, people have leaned toward asking if the one-year anniversary had been crossed. The hardest one came from work, the last place I expected it. The exact words were, “everyone goes through personal things, but it’s been a year.” I need to call this out for what it was - a completely misguided, unprofessional and insensitive comment. Going through “personal things” is not comparable to your life being turned upside down by the loss of your spouse. My gut reaction was to respond with “if your husband dropped dead, would you feel the same way?,” but instead I said nothing. This was a comment that hit hard because it downplayed the impact of grief and put an expiration date on it at the same time.

To that ignorant person, thank you for the heartless comment. But a year doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t lessen or minimize the pain or change my new reality. Just stop with the comparisons and the rationale, because as far as I’m concerned, your opinion doesn’t matter.

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This past year has been eye opening for me. There are those that I thought were friends, that reached out one time and never checked up on me again. Some, who I considered to be “like family,” that were eager to be the first ones to show up. They brought food and then nothing. Not one phone call or text to check-in. That hurts. It doesn’t take much effort to make a call or send a text. We spent years with these people - the kind where he was like a younger brother to them, or so they said. I guess not. Not one of them reached out to us after that first weekend.

On the other hand some co-workers and acquaintances who I expected nothing from were the ones who consistently checked-in, called, sent texts, and showed up. Our hockey team families were there from the start and continued to show up for my son and for us through the entire year. Then there are the few that I termed “glimmers of hope” - that’s a piece I’ll be sharing separately, in the Wednesday Poetry series. Those special friends that were always there, making sure I was “ok”, getting me out of bed and out of the house, checking on the kids, making sure I was eating ok and on and on. Unfortunately, it took a traumatic life event to show me who people really are. I don’t care about them anymore. I have better things to do with my time. There’s a short list now, and they’re the only ones who matter.

Next week: the ones who think a year is a deadline

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There was a Mediterranean restaurant that was our favorite. We went there regularly. It was a family-owned place. I had not been there since, until today.

It is about a 20-minute drive, but for some reason today I felt the need to go. Walking in gave me goose bumps as I remembered all the times we sat there.

They knew us as regulars. We usually ordered the same items, and they would always bring us free appetizers or soup. They updated their décor, but it was the same family members we knew. One of the daughters recognized me and we started to talk. The fact that we hadn’t been there in a while came up and I told her why. She said, “I’m so sorry” and then there was silence. Another place, another trigger.

When she brought the food out, she smiled and said, “I put some bread, soup and dessert in the bag for you, take care.” It was a small gesture but so sweet and kind.

I’m not sure what was harder, being there at that moment, or coming home and looking at it for a while knowing that I would be eating “our” usual meal with only memories by my side.

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Another Friday evening, usually the hardest part of the week. I decided to take on a project to keep myself busy – a closet makeover. I ordered a closet organization system. Thinking it would be a quick assembly process, I decided to first clear out the closet.

The first 10 minutes everything was going fine. Moving my clothes was easy. But when I got to moving his clothes, it was too much to handle. It was painful. Holding pieces of cloth as a connection to him. In a past piece I mentioned that there were a few pieces of his that I would always keep. So even though I wasn’t removing everything of his from there it ended up being one of those sudden grief triggers.

I closed my eyes, took a few slow deep breaths, eventually composing myself ready to move on with the project. Opened the box and laid all the pieces out. Started placing the parts together, putting in the screws and bolts.

Not even 15 minutes later, the emotions hit again. I remembered back to when we would playfully argue over who was going to assemble things. One of us would take the lead and the other would be there to hand over the tools and parts. It was that simple thought. I was doing this alone, there was no one else to hold the other side level as I was anchoring the screw into the wall. A day and a half and 191 screws and bolts later it was done. I stood back and looked at it. The next step, put everything back.

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not just your memories,

not just the thought of you,

but the weight of your hand in mine,

the sound of your laugh filling a room,

the warmth of your breath beside me.

It isn’t the shadow of love I miss,

it is you,

the living, breathing,

irreplaceable you.

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