Nearly A Year Without You: Learning to Walk Beside Grief

It’s still a shock, this reality I’m living. I never imagined my life would look like this.

I had dreams, plans… a vision of what our future would be. And yet, life had its own way of unfolding—without permission, regardless of how carefully we tried to map it out.

I always knew life was uncertain. But nothing prepares you for the kind of loss that takes your spouse so suddenly, so unfairly.

It changes everything.

Every part of you.

The way you move, think, breathe.

The pain is deafening—an invisible weight that settles in your chest. And no matter how much you try, there’s no shaking it off.

You just… carry it.

Grief is sneaky.

It creeps in quietly—in the middle of the night, in the early morning, even in dreams. Sometimes it feels like it’s tricking me, paralyzing me.

I keep trying—really trying—to learn how to live with this loss.

But it feels unfixable.

Irreversible.

Like this void has no remedy, no repair.

Maybe you can’t fill it.

Maybe you just learn how to walk beside it.

As I approach a year since losing my husband, it still feels like yesterday. The ache is fresh. The tears come often.

And even when I pray… when I cry out to God… nothing fully takes the ache away.

But I keep asking Him to mend my heart.

I keep hoping that, in His time, something will shift. That I’ll be able to face life with less fear, less doubt, less pain.

That I’ll stop questioning whether I’m capable of doing this on my own.

Because I wasn’t on my own.

I was part of a team.

We were a unit. Strong. Hopeful. Unstoppable.

We had found our rhythm.

And I was excited for what the future held… to see how far we could go.

But then everything stopped.

Just like that.

We didn’t even reach our peak before it all came crashing down.

And now… it’s just me.

Picking up the pieces after devastation is harder than anyone tells you.

You start questioning everything—especially your future.

What happens when I get older?

Will I always be alone?

Will the ache ever fade?

Will peace ever find me again?

Those thoughts come uninvited.

They stir up fear, sadness, doubt.

But I don’t want to dwell in them.

I don’t want to live there.

I want peace.

A calm that covers me.

A stillness that reminds me… I’ll be okay.

And maybe… things won’t look like I planned.

But maybe they can still be good.

Maybe the future still holds light—just a different kind than I expected.

Maybe there’s something beautiful ahead… something I haven’t even thought to imagine.

As Psalm 34:18 reminds us:

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." (NIV)

– Janeece McCullough

Founder, EmpowerHER Widows Network

“Live with purpose, love without limits.”

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