Their favorite mug is still in the cupboard, and yet they’re not here. Not the doctors, not the family, not even the long years of growing older side by side. Or at the very least, you hope you go first so you don’t have to feel this. What you’re going through is one of the hardest, most human things anyone can face.
And while everyone’s grief is different, there are some things I wish someone had told me when I first lost my wife, Margaret. Five things you should never do when your spouse passes away first. Let’s start with the first one because it’s the one I fell into almost immediately. At first, I told myself I just needed some space.
But space turned into days, then weeks, and soon I was just going through the motions. The house stayed dark most days. The TV stayed on just to fill the air with something, anything other than that unbearable quiet. Then one day, my neighbor Henry, he’s a stubborn old goat, banged on my door until I finally opened it.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel completely alone. Even if you’re not ready to laugh or talk, just being around another soul who cares can make all the difference. After Margaret died, I didn’t really eat. Food lost all its flavor.
The person I cared for most was gone. And then one morning, I collapsed in the kitchen just like that, out cold. You’re hurting the people who still love you. I was still here.
My heart was still beating, I still had daughters, grandkids, friends, neighbors. And if I truly loved Margaret, I needed to honor the life we had by living, not fading away. If you’re struggling to take care of yourself right now, I understand. I truly do.
Go for a short walk around the block. You may not feel like it, but do it anyway because your life isn’t over. Your spouse may have passed, but you’re still here. There’s a certain kind of smile we learn how to wear after a while.
I use that smile a lot after Margaret passed. Be the steady one. I didn’t want anyone to see the nights I cried into her pillow. But I’ll tell you something that took me a long time to learn.
Grief has a funny way of finding its way out. And when it does, it usually pours out when you least expect it. And then my grandson came out, maybe 5 years old at the time. That’s all it took.
So please, if you’re pretending right now, if you’re putting on that brave face every day and hiding what’s really going on, I want to say this clearly. You don’t have to be strong all the time. Even just writing in a journal can help more than you think because pain that is voiced can begin to move. It can begin to heal.
It’s the feeling that life just doesn’t mean anything anymore. After all, your mornings used to begin with them. You had someone to check the weather with, watch TV with, and fall asleep next to. I remember waking up one morning weeks after Margaret passed and the thought hit me like a brick.
It was such a small thing, but it broke something inside me. And for a while, I honestly believed that my life had already ended. Yes, the person you loved most is no longer beside you in the way they used to be. But you are still here.
And that means your story isn’t over. But life still has meaning. Those moments still matter. Never that, but a reminder that you are still capable of joy, of laughter, of warmth.
You may not be living the life you planned, but that doesn’t mean it can’t still be a good one. That first day, I nearly backed out. When you lose the person you built your life with, it’s natural to want to do something, anything, to make the pain stop. I remember staring at the walls of our house just days after Margaret passed and thinking, “I can’t stay here.
” She didn’t try to talk me out of anything right away. I put her books back on the shelf with her notes still scribbled in the margins. Some days those notes make me cry. The scarf that still smells faintly like her perfume.
That’s why I want to say this as clearly as I can. And when the time comes when you feel calm, not panicked, you’ll know what to keep, what to change, and what new chapter you’re ready to write. There’s no timeline, no finish line, no one-size-fits-all path. And if you’re still wondering, how do I live now?
Your life still matters. You still have value, wisdom, laughter, stories, love. You still have people who care about you, people who want to see you thrive, not just survive. Margaret used to say, “Love never dies.
It just changes form. ” I didn’t really understand that until after she was gone, but now I see it everywhere. You don’t have to have it all figured out. If this message touched something in you today, I hope you’ll take a moment to leave a comment, share your story, or simply say their name, your husband, your wife, the one you’re missing.
Here’s to living your life fully, even after loss.