I woke this Labor Day morning to a rainy day. I had plans for a long early morning walk. I may do that a little later, but I’ll wait for the rain to stop.
Doug’s wife Mary died four years ago. My friend Deb just had major surgery. I am listening to Michelle Obama’s book ‘Becoming’ and the love she poured into her father’s health struggles. I have been thinking about my friend with MS. And then, as with almost every family, Doug and I both have family members who grapple to find solid footing in life. Aging is tough…end of story.
I recently printed off all my blog entries since the beginning of 2026. I wrote a piece back in March and it still speaks to my soul. I was married to a wonderful man for more than half my life. He died. I drowned in sorrow, sinking lower and lower until the darkness made me realize I needed to shift my mental reality, to knit the wondrous parts of life back in.
“Healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It doesn’t mean loving them less. It doesn’t mean ‘moving on’. Healing means learning how to carry the love, without being crushed by the pain.”
You can read the original post here:
https://theheatons.weebly.com/musing-from-our-woods/shattering-the-illusion
Today though, I want to reprint Jessica Everett-Ellerman’s thoughts on widowhood.
Jessica Everett-Ellerman
March 12, 2026 at 7:46 AM ·
Here’s something widowhood teaches you real fast.
You are going to die.
Not someday in the abstract way people like to talk about over coffee.
For real.
Your life can end on a random Tuesday while everyone else thought you were healthy and had decades left.
I know that because my husband was 48.
Healthy.
Strong.
Normal morning.
Normal life.
And then suddenly he wasn’t here anymore.
So when people ask me why I write the way I do…
why I say the uncomfortable things…
why I push people to wake the hell up and live…
this is why.
Most people are walking around acting like life is a dress rehearsal.
Like there will be a better time to say the things.
Take the trip.
Fix the relationship.
Leave the job.
Start the dream.
Like there’s some invisible guarantee that you’ll get to do it later.
There isn’t.
And if you’ve never sat in an ICU…
or held someone’s hand while machines breathe for them…
or signed the papers that end a life…
be grateful.
Truly.
Because widowhood rips the fantasy right out of you.
It teaches you something brutal and honest:
Time is not promised.
Not for you.
Not for the people you love.
So tell them you love them.
Take the risk.
Go dancing.
Book the damn trip.
Laugh too loud.
Love too big.
Because one day the people who love you will be sitting in a quiet house looking at photos wondering how life changed so fast.
And if you’re lucky enough to still be here today…
wake up.
Your life isn’t coming later.
It’s happening right now.
Her truth is my truth. Her words are my words. So yes, I chose life and today that includes this guy…
Doug has given me a chance to live into Jessica’s words. Now it’s your turn- thrive, laugh, explore and live in hope and joy.
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