I’ve now lived my life for three years longer than him.
That’s 1,095 more days of banalities: spilled coffee, loads of laundry, trips to the grocery store.
And 1,095 more days of what makes life worth living: side splitting laughter, whispered I love yous, last calls at new bars in new cities.
Over these years and those days, my grief has changed. It’s no longer as focused on me — on my loss and my feelings.
Now it’s more about Bob: about what he lost, about the things he’s missed, about how fucking unfair it all is.
It makes me angry and sad and confused. It makes me want to scream at people who gripe about getting older, when they should be thankful for every second they have. It makes me grimace when anyone says “everything happens for a reason.” It makes me pull over and sob when I hear certain country songs.
The emotions are still in there, and they still erupt at times both expected and unexpected.
But on a day-to-day basis, I’m not struggling. For me, something has slowly superseded the daily ache; something not quite as pervasive, but still insidious.
Fear.
Now that I’ve found myself and my life again, I also find myself afraid all the time.
Of losing again.
Of my world toppling down.
And unlike the grief, I don’t know when the fear will abate. If it will. Or if it’ll simply get worse.
I think about having kids. Then I think about how it would feel to lose them, and my chest clenches.
I think about my mom, my friends, my Tyler.
. . .
Chloe Benjamin writes in The Immortalists: “The impossibility of moving beyond loss, faced against the likelihood you will: it’s as absurd, as seemingly miraculous, as survival always is.”
Everyone told me to pursue the absurd and miraculous, to stay open, to love again, to keep on living for Bob. But they didn’t warn me that, if I did exactly what they said I should do, the future would get really scary really fast.
I think of all the people who have experienced loss, and of all the people who have managed to love again.
Despite knowing what it’s like to get burned, they go right back in. As so many things in life, that seems beautiful — and foolish.
Bob would probably say I was both of those things. He would probably also say I’ve never been afraid of a little heat.
So whenever I feel the fear creeping in, I try to remember a Garth Brooks song that Bob burned onto a CD for me when we were 17. When we were too young to really get what Garth was talking about.
“Life is not tried it is merely survived / If you’re standing outside the fire.”
I step back into the flames. I take a deep breath.
I’m afraid of getting burned, but I also can’t imagine being anywhere else.
I’m really glad you’re here — it’s a good reminder none of us are alone. Thank you for your time, comments, and support. If you’d like to stay in touch, please sign up for my newsletter here.
This is beautiful, Susan, and so accurate. It’s heart-stopping, breath-taking, gut-punching scary, but if we’re not living life, what are we doing? And, in my experience, as I’ve been diving into my fears and deep-seeded trauma, as ugly and painful and scary as it is, it is ALWAYS followed (although not always quickly followed) by peace, lightness, joy, and a feeling of being more ALIVE. Keep on going, loving, living. You are not alone in this struggle. Thank you for your honest and vulnerable words – as always, I’m moved and inspired!
Aww thanks, Lindsay. I really appreciate you stopping by and commenting — your words always mean so much. Sending much love your way.
You’re such a beautiful soul. I love how you’ve expressed this feeling through words. It’s so hard to do that sometimes in a way others can understand. Loss hurts, but we have to accept it-which also hurts no matter how many decades have passed. Breathe it in, breathe it out and continue. Blessings.
Thank you so much, Kenzie. I really appreciate your words. And YES I love this: Breathe it in, breathe it out, and continue. That’s the only way forward. xoxo
I am finally understanding after three years of painful awakening that my pain is what is what brought me to the new person I am that is starting to thrive more than ever..without theses unbearable life challenges, I would have never allowed myself to be the real me and just keep going and stand up again, to be my own here and see what is there to learn every time I fail at something or something doesn’t work. Fear is an illusion. It’s everywhere in our world and it’s the most powerful human emotion. I have so much compassion for you. Sending you love with all my heart. May all the fear be removed from your heart. May the Universe bring back peace within your heart, may this peace allow you to find a path more beautiful than you would have ever imagined. Love and light. xxx
Hi Sophia, thanks for your beautiful words. Sending all that love and light right back to you — keep thriving <3
Susan, thank you for sharing your feelings with us, it is so appreciated. Ever since my daughter Kathryn died on Jan. 31st 2017 I have been drawn to accounts of other’s losses. In trying to cope with my grief, it was helpful to know I was not alone. Kathryn was the youngest of my five children. I just returned from a trip to Keystone CO where our family participated in a memorial to her and spread her ashes in the mountains there. Thank you again for your beautiful words!
Hi Kathy, thanks for sharing YOUR story. I think we all need to talk more about grief and loss — so, like you said, we all know we’re not alone. I used to live in Breckenridge, CO, so I got a chill when you said you spread Kathryn’s ashes in Keystone. What an incredible place to memorialize her. Sending you all my love <3
I am experiencing the exact feeling. I’m petrified every time someone leaves my house that they may not walk back through the door again. There is so much to say about this, and I have so many feelings, but I really don’t even know where to begin to express them. I guess for now I would just like to thank you for your article.
I know exactly what you mean, JJ. Since Bob died in a car accident, most of my fears revolve around cars. Thank you for commenting, and for sharing your fears with me. None of us are alone in this <3
I lost my husband last December and though I have more good days now than bad the prospect of starting a new life on my own is so frightening . but do it I must I know my life will alter but perhaps once I can accept the realisation that I am never going to see him again I can in time perhaps move on.
Hi Sandra, you don’t need to do anything before you’re ready. Acceptance can take a long time, and that’s okay. Just focus on one day at a time. Sending love to you.
I thought I was crazy. Of course I am. Anyone who has ever lost anyone they loved so truly will feel crazy. Your words hit me and to know that fear is terrifying. I think about other people I love dying. I cry or I can’t breathe. I hang on to them, I appreciate them, flaws and all. Thank you.
Hi Angela, I’m glad this post resonated with you — if nothing else, to make you feel less alone. I think grief and its aftermath can be such a lonely road. (And it can certainly make you feel crazy.) As you said, at least fear makes us appreciate those around us — and appreciate each day we’re given. xoxo
Thanks for sharing your grief. It is not easy at all for me too. It’s 3 years since my husband passed on. Our daughter was 9 months I chose to focus on her more than the hurt I was feeling. She is 4 years now and she asks about her dad that when is he coming back. That hurts me then I go back to God and ask him to take charge I can’t take it. It’s hard to lose the one you love. I know every day I try and make the best of my days. I sometimes dream of my husband and that gives me a warm feeling. Love is beautiful hold on to the beautiful memories.
Thanks for sharing your story, Azola. It’s heartbreaking. I agree that dreams can be wonderful and warm, though sometimes they also make me feel anguished. I once read somewhere: “Hold onto the love, not the loss.” And that’s what I try to do every day <3
OMG! I didn,t know the word of what I was feeling 2 years after my husband’s sudden death in front of me. And everyday, out of my survival mode of moving forward boldly or charging forward, is this incredible “fear” that drives me to get comfortable with all of my discomfort. I know I never want to feel that absolute helplessness and vulnerable every again. And that same fear has made me a wonderful, loving caring person that acts fearlessly, exploring my new world alone and doing all the things I,ve dreamed of. Thank you for writting about that powerful emotion!
Hi Penny, I’m happy to hear you’ve managed to redirect your fear in a way that helps you love, and care, and push yourself to do and try new things. It’s very inspirational — I think that’s what we can all hope for. xoxo
Wow. This is abundantly real, and I hope to never have that kind of loss. I do wish for that kind of love, tho. It sucks that you are in a constant state of fear and possible loss. Sending love and light your way.
-Alexis
Thank you so much, Alexis. I guess fear and loss are maybe the price we pay for love? But ultimately, I do think it’s worth it.
I lost my wife unexpectedly in 2013. I take comfort in the feelings you share. I struggle moving forward and I relate strongly to the first fear you listed: being afraid of losing again.
Hi Joseph, thanks for dropping by and sharing your story. I never thought fear would be the thing to follow grief, but there it is. Sending hugs to you.
This is really emotional article, how you come out from fear and trauma that you have faced. It’s really emotional and hard to face the fact that the people you loved once are no more. On the first place we can’t accept that truth, but according to the time it heals. Thank you so much for sharing such an amazing experience or journey of your’s.
Thank you so much for your kind words, Jim.
The mixed of emotions, the point in life ones feel lonely and cared… and there was a part of our life which really teaches us to live and not be scared… I kinda go through the same and then one day I said I already seem the worst let just step up and live the day as it was the last… its okay to fall 🙂 that’s really helped me to recreate the path and now happy living life… 🙂
Good read. Poked my emotions and feelings for a moment.
The grief phase. Mine was more of angry outbursts, never knew emotions could be that powerful. Had about three major angry outbursts (nasty and intense).
The fear phase made me withdraw, considering that my loss was perpetuated by people who saw it fit that he (dad) did not deserve to live anymore. I saw everything as a threat, from people to events and things.
But then I realized something incredible! I am going to die someday, so let me live my best and see what happens.
Grief is pain of loss, its temporary, but if allowed, the mind can reconstruct a nasty reality using the fear that creeps in later. That is where conscious intervention is needed. Loss creates some emptiness, but I can fill that emptiness with compassion by acknowledging the suffering of all beings. It works and has been for a few years now.
I still have some pain and anger wandering here and there, but with time I have weakened them with my compassionate practice. At first it seems stupid to my thinking mind, but a few weeks down the road and I start smiling at my progress.
Healing is a process of self-discovery and recreating your life beyond fear. Stumbling, fear, doubt and many other demons will catch up, but they can be overcome by a good support system. That is why we are many, to help each other up.
Transformation is possible, but it needs a genuine interest and unwavering commitment.
Thank you for this article. Blessings.
Thank you so much for your thoughtful comment, Denis. I love that you have a compassion practice. I know gratitude gets a lot of attention (as it should), but compassion is just as important. If we practice both gratitude and compassion, we’ll be able to, as you said, help each other up — and hopefully help ourselves in the process! Sending you good wishes on your grief journey.