Grief and Anger

Grief and Anger

This past month has been overwhelming—with so many moments John should have been part of. And I am angry. I’m mad at him for not taking better care of himself—for them. I hate that my kids don’t have their dad anymore.

People keep telling me, “He’s with you” or “He’s watching over them,” but that doesn’t take the edge off my anger. He wasn’t there for her prom. He wasn’t there when Drew’s team won the State President’s Cup.

He wasn’t there when I had to make the tough decision about switching Drew’s club soccer team. He wasn’t around to help him shop for men’s pants when I couldn’t figure out the sizing. He just… wasn’t there.

He wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there.

Yes, I keep repeating it—but that’s all my heart has been able to say lately. That absence, again and again, is what I’ve been sitting with. John wasn’t here for the moments I needed him, and that makes me angry. I never wanted to be a single mom. I never signed up to do this alone. So why is this how my life turned out?

I know I’ve often talked about missing John, but this is how I miss him. I don’t miss being married anymore. In fact, I feel like I’m growing into myself now that I’m single—relearning who I am, rediscovering my strength.

What I do miss is his presence in our children’s lives. It hurts to know my daughter won’t have her dad to walk her down the aisle. My son won’t have his father cheering on the sidelines during high school soccer games.

Now, two and a half years into widowhood, I can honestly say I’m proud of the growth I’ve made. I no longer sit and cry over missing a husband. I’ve stopped tolerating as much from others. I’ve found my voice and my boundaries. I speak up. I say no when I need to, and I feel less guilty about choosing myself sometimes—even when that means doing things without my kids.

I’ve traveled to Arizona—twice. I started this blog. I’ve done so many things I never imagined I could do alone. And I’m not done.

As I step forward into this new chapter—this new version of me—I want to keep sharing what I’ve learned. I hope my journey encourages or comforts someone else who’s in it. Please reach out if anything I’ve shared resonates or if you need someone to talk to.

We don’t have to walk through grief alone. I’m here.

Life feels so different these days — and yet, in some ways, not different at all. The real change is me.
I hope that makes sense.

You all know I’ve been going through a lot of changes in every part of my life. But today, I’m reflecting — looking back just a bit.

Last night, I spent time with friends, and once again, I felt like the odd one out. I’m always the odd one out now… ever since I became “just me.” And that feeling, being the only single person in a group of couples, hit hard.

It made me realize that while I don’t think I’m ready for a serious relationship — I’m definitely not looking to get married — I do miss having someone beside me. Someone who’s there for me. A partner. Even just someone to go with me to social events or hangouts with my couple friends.

For example, last night I went over to a friend’s house. She was there with her husband and kids. Another one of our mutual friends came too — with her husband. It was just like the old days. My husband and I used to go there together, hang out on the back porch, play games, talk late into the night. But now it’s just me.

And while I wasn’t necessarily missing him last night, I was missing what he represented: companionship, partnership, someone to share life with. Everyone around me still treats me with the same love and care — but I see them coupled up, and it makes me feel alone in a new way.

Recently, I’ve tried talking to a few men online. It’s been… interesting. A little fun, a little frustrating. Honestly, I struggle to trust that these men are who they say they are. Why is it always someone who’s never been married, has no kids, and somehow is so emotionally available? It feels too good to be true — because, let’s be real, it probably is.

I want to believe them. I want to think they really want to get to know me. But deep down, I think I know better. It’s so hard to tell what’s real online. And frankly, I don’t know many people who’ve found lasting, healthy relationships that way.

So I’ve decided: it’s time for something different.

It’s time to stop hiding.
I’m ready to put myself out there — in real life.
I don’t exactly know how to meet someone organically — I met my first husband in high school, and my second through a blind date a friend arranged. So this is a new path for me.

But I’m ready to take the first step.

No more shrinking. No more widow cocoon.

It’s time to spread my wings… and fly, like a butterfly