It goes without saying that I miss Mike.  He was my life companion.  My best friend.  My lover.  My Soul's mate.  He was my person.  The one who championed me.  He was the man who loved me to the depths of my Soul - from the depth of his own. 

But, now he is dead.  And, I am here missing all that he was.

To say that I miss his love is an understatement.  When he was alive, Mike introduced me a love that was big, bold, and beautiful.  I long to have our love back.  And, a piece of me will always desire his love because it is impossible to have been shown a love of this power and immensity and not want more of it - to want it to last forever.  Suffice to say, Mike made me a life long fan of love.  And, today, like every day, I continue to crave his physical presence in my life. 

Simply 'sensing' his presence is not the same for me.  Continuing to love someone in separation -across dimensions- is possible, but it is different from loving each other in the physical world.

I don't know much, but I know that Mike still loves me from afar, from wherever he is.  But, now, his love is no longer tangible to me.  I know that his love has grown deeper since he died; but, now, his love is not something I can experience with all my senses.  I struggle because I want his love to still be enough to sustain me - for the rest of my life - but it is not enough.  I wish it was.  But, it just isn't.  As a human being I need more; and, it is crushing to admit this to myself.

I was 43 years old when Mike took his last breath.  I was young.  I am still young.  And, age aside, I can not imagine living the rest of my life alone.  And, this isn't because I am afraid of being alone.  I'm divorced - I've chosen to be alone before.  And, again, as a widow, I will chose to remain alone unless true love comes for me.  But, for reasons I can't explain, I know that love will find me again one day - in some capacity.        

Since Mike died, I've accepted that I need a palpable love.  I know and respect that some widowed people are content to remain alone.  They are satisfied with their choice and I am envious of them in some ways.  I often question why I am not completely happy without being in love.  I don't know the answer to this.  But, after 602 days, I accept that I need a type of love that the man I love can not give me anymore.   I need a love I can taste with my lips.  A love I can see with my eyes.  A love I can hear with my ears.  A love I can touch with my hands.  I want to be drunk on a love like this - again-  before my life is over.



I know...

Mike wants me to be happy.

Mike wants me to live.

Mike wants me to love and be loved again.

I want these things too.

But, this is not easy stuff.

Or, is it?


Outliving your spouse is many things, and simple isn't one of them. 

It is complicated.  All sorts of complicated. 

But, at the same time, it is actually very straightforward too.



I did not die.

And, neither did you. 

I am still breathing. 

And, so are you.

It's that plain. 

I can make his death as complicated as I want to, but really it is simple. 

Mike died.  I didn't.


Reduced to it's simplest form, it still remains a lot to process. 

Fully realizing the death of the person you love requires lots of hard work.  And, at times, accepting the permanence of death is suffocating.  This stuff isn't for the faint of heart.  Grief is demanding.  Grief insists that you taste pain.  It forces you to experience the full flavor of suffering; and, over time, you learn to recognize it's bitter aftertaste. The robust, pungent flavors or grief must be absorbed again and again, over your lifetime, until they can be properly digested.  At first, grief turns your stomach; and with practice, you learn to ingest it with more ease. I don't think grief ever becomes palatable.  Grief is never pleasant; but, with time, and repeated servings, I am finding that it does become more digestable.

Since Mike has died, I have spent a lot of time consuming my grief.  I have been connecting to the thoughts inside my head; and more importantly, the thoughts inside my heart.  I have asked myself many difficult questions.  And, through the clumsiness of grief, I have come up with some answers.  And, even more significant, while mulling over my thoughts, I have come up with more questions. 

It is unsettling at times to have so much weighing on my mind; but, this is just the way I'm made.  I have always thought deeply about things.  A well examined life is the type of life I choose to live.  It's not effortless, but I have never been the type who is satisfied with easy living.  I want the best.  I want my life experiences to match my capabilities.  I want to live a life that spreads a smile across my face just thinking about it.  I had this life when Mike was alive.  And, I know that I will have it again.    

Early on, I decided that if I have to live without him, I should still live well.  I am not exactly sure how to go about doing this; but, nonetheless, I know that this is what I will accomplish.  Since Mike died, I have worked to know myself more deeply.  I am consciously attempting to see myself through Mike's eyes.  And, in doing so, I am learning to appreciate and love myself - more.  I am beginning to love myself in the way Mike loved me - fully and completely, to the depths of me.  With a deeper appreciation of myself and my worth, I am slowly coming back to life.  Extending this type of self love to myself is far from easy.  It does not come naturally to me; but, I know that the effort will be worth it.

Right now, I am at the end, and I am also at the beginning.  It is a daunting place to be because of the uncertainty; and, also because of the magnitude of opportunity.   I've  thought about it, and I am choosing to view this stage of my life as the beginning because although beginnings are uncertain, they are filled with possibilities.  And, for right now, my broken heart has to I believe in the magic of new beginnings. 


Standing at the beginning of the end,



Showing 8 reactions

Please check your e-mail for a link to activate your account.
  • Staci Sulin
    commented 2018-08-02 06:53:02 -0700
    Thank you for your kind words of support to Jennifer. My response was delayed and I appreciate that you stepped up to offer support.
  • Staci Sulin
    commented 2018-08-02 06:51:21 -0700
    Just the fact that you read my blog and could put together a comment in the early days of your grief tells me that you are stronger than you believe. Grief changes with time. It will get softer eventually. And, with hard work you can find pieces of yourself again.

    For now, just surround yourself with supportive people who understand your heart… you don’t need to do or be anything in the early months. Just breathe and dance with your grief. She’s a lousy dance partner in that she’s demanding, pushy and in your face. But, you must spend purposeful time with your grief – in small doses – especially at the beginning.

    It gets different with time.
    Stay the course and trust that you will find your way somehow.
    Lean on us, we understand your heart.

    All the best to you. S.
  • Staci Sulin
    commented 2018-08-02 06:44:52 -0700
    Thank you for taking the time to comment. All the best to you as you work towards you new beginning. It’s not easy, but it’s possible to recreate a life worth living. It takes time and hard work and a strong desire to stay the course. Like others, i work at it everyday. And, as you know, some days are easier than others.
    Best to you. S.
  • Laren Tolbert
    commented 2018-07-25 16:47:51 -0700
    Jane Santa Hess, I just lost my wife after 49 years. She was the love of my life. I love Soaring Spirits, but it’s hard when you have spent all of your adult life with one person, and just as you’re moving into the “Golden Years” you lose that anchor. I wish there was a blog for us old lovers.
  • Jennifer Skol
    commented 2018-07-22 18:02:56 -0700
    I am almost 9 weeks in to this process. I’m 44, he was 47and died suddenly. Although the 29 hours in the hospital felt like an eternity.
    So much of your story is so similar to ours. The great love. He loved me beyond my own comprehension, and I him.
    I just wanted to say thank you for this. Thank you for sharing your story. I hope to someday when I can complete a thought.
  • Jane Santa Hess
    commented 2018-07-17 14:11:09 -0700
    Wow! This was well said. I just lost my husband after being together for 47 years. I am devastated but hoping for some light of peace. It’s true about the magnitude of the opportunity. I hope to get to a beginning at some point. We did promise to stay till death do us part and he did do that.
    Thank you,
  • Staci Sulin
    commented 2018-07-16 11:34:02 -0700
    Mikhail, please do not feel sorry for me. Death is part of LIFE. Mike died because he lived. (Read that again. There is truth and power in this simple sentence.) And, let me tell you, Mike wasn’t kidding around. He LIVED life well. Mike loved life and it loved him right back.
    He showed me how to live well. This is his gift to me and I share it with you. You are in the very early days of grief. I assure you with time and hard work you can and will re-enter life. You will eventually steady yourself and you will recover from the trauma of your wife’s death. Along the way, as you attempt to re-engage in living, know that here in this community, we speak the language of grief fluently and we understand the aching in your heart. Lean in and surround yourself with those who understand the enormity of the task you are embarking on. All the best to you, and to us all. S.
  • Mikhail Khoroujnikov
    commented 2018-07-12 13:20:27 -0700
    I’m so sorry for your loss I think I know how you feel, I just lost my wife 3 weeks ago (She passed away in her sleep with out any warning) we were together for 23 years and we were “glued” to each other 24/7. I’m not sure how to live anymore not to worry there no any dark thoughts just feels like life just stopped. I just joined soaring spirits and came across your post and feel so bad for you. Try to stay strong . good luck
    Mikhail K