With terrible things happening in so many places, here in the US and around the world, grief still hums along inside and alongside these things. New people join our ranks every day. Those living with grief find themselves in challenging, even life-threatening situations without the ones they love. In these ordinary, not-ordinary days, grief can be compounded. That comfort-of-home, the feeling of being at home, can be hard to find.
The weather is turning here in Oregon. As I write, the wind is howling, walnuts from the giant tree outside hurl themselves onto the roof, the sky is a celluloid yellow-gray. It’s exactly the kind of weather I love. The kind of weather we loved – Matt and I would be cooking something on the stove all day, curled up together watching movies, or playing yet another game of Scrabble, the results of which would no doubt be contested for days on end.
This kind of weather used to wreck me.
At just over eight years out now, I can look out on this weather and miss him, miss us, and not have it throw me to the floor. It’s gentle, but noticeable. His absence follows me around in the food I don’t make, the movies I don’t watch. It’s here in the general missing of not just him, but missing, too, the larger sweep of love, of being home with someone. Snuggled in against the cold.
It's not the big holidays that get you. Ordinary days hurt most. Click To TweetFrom the outside, people might think it’s the big dates that hurt the most – birthdays and anniversaries, the flashy holidays. While those can be painful, it’s the ordinary days, the domestic and intimate every-day days that really hurt. The one you love is missing in the every day, the normal moments; they’re missing in all those days that blow in on the wind and stay forever.
Though our life, and my longing for it, has softened considerably over these years, the way it felt to be there, to be snuggled in against the weather – and against or alongside all the pain in the world – it’s still right there, in that certain mid-fall light. It’s sweet, instead of painful (mostly). It’s one of the ways our life is still close to me, remembering what it was like to feel so at home.
Grief lives in the every-day. It’s around at those big holidays, inside those special occasions, yes. And: the intimate rhythms of life are where you might feel your grief most strongly, even more so now with all the isolating aspects of the ongoing pandemic. It’s a place those on the outside don’t often think to look.
How about you? Are there certain days, certain shifts of light or changes in the weather that bring your loss home to you more acutely? What are some of the at-home, intimate, normal-life things that follow you around with their absence? Let us know in the comments.
Fridays after work and Sundays in the afternoon…. I miss him the most. I miss carrying out our routine without him, it will never be the same.
Thank you for the article. It is so true.
Yes Sundays, with a roast dinner and a glass of wine x
Spending time with our (grownup) kids…and the grandkids he didn’t get to see.
For me it’s seeing kids that are the age that Oscar would have been. He would be 17 turning 18 this fall. Or like the other day when a dark green late model Toyota Camry drove by me as I was leaving my daughter’s parent teacher conference. Out of nowhere came my grief crashing over me like the rogue wave it can be because a flash of Oscar driving that car went through my mind. Oscar’s first car would have been a dark green late model Toyota Camry passed down to him by my parents. I relate intimately about the fall and the weather making my grief bigger. This used to be my favorite time of year… the turning of the leaves, the cooler air, my birthday, the Halloween decorations… this is the first year since he died that I have been able to try to enjoy it again. Key word is try. I know he thought he would be making life easier for everyone else when his mind convinced him that dying was the right choice, but that is simply not the case. I miss him constantly and feel everything more acutely now that he is dead. Thank you for making a safe space for me to bring my forever grief, Megan.
Simply beautiful ❤️
Cleaning. I was organizing the shop at work…putting things away. It hit me in a wave of tears that I miss his mess. Thank you for your post.
me too. i miss his messyness. he was so charming with that. I am too neat and proper and he so much balanced me
YES…I miss his mess…I even miss the sound of his oxygen machine and the long oxygen line that I tripped over several times a day for over 3 years. The things that drove me batty…everything’s too still, too quiet, too “proper” now.
The arrival of the fall season, for sure. This is my first fall without my partner, so the pain is quite raw. The temperatures, the smells, the desire to do all the things that were “us” this time of year. It doesn’t help that the year mark is just a month away. Feels like this time of year is ruined for the foreseeable future.
For me it’s food anything with food. We loved food like we loved eachother and food was so important in their family and my family and at times it’s was brought us closer and at times it brought a wedge between us. My husband pasted in May of a fast and furious liver cancer and I was convinced eating healthy would save him where as he was convinced that he wants to enjoy all the trans fats and HFCS laden items he could. Seriously crying and sobbing as I type this. Farmers markets, that fall morning feel, when brunch and picking persimmons seemed perfect. Weekends meant for cooking and family gatherings. That’s just one thing we shared that caused me to miss him every day multiple times a day and what feels like all day.
It is my first holiday season without my daddy. These are the months of quail hunting, scary costumes, bonfires, boots and sweaters. The mornings when I would call the house and he would tell me how low the temperature on the back porch is, ask me if I had my warm wear on and remind me to get my firewood early so I don’t end up with green wood. It was my parents 54 wedding anniversary- The 12th of Never. I don’t know yet how I will go through November or December. I just keep putting one day in front of the other, holding on to each memory and missing him so much.
Ohhh yes, yes, yes.
My loss was my younger sister Annette (at age 42 to cancer. 5 yrs this Dec 20). Yvette & Annette. Like Mutt & Jeff. My camping and road trip buddy and my kid sister. It hits me most whenever I am in a place of beauty and awe like a sunset boat cruise in Tobermory Ont or a beach in PEI where we are all there – except for her. It is all the things we did and moments like these that we will never do together. When I start a campfire and think of the bickering we would have as she tried forever to start one.
Ohh I feel her presence but it is not the same. She would have been 47 this Oct 24.
Any day that I go into the shop to get a tool, to fix something broken, to simply stand in it and breathe in the smells of his work…they bring me to a place where I have to close my eyes, take a few breaths, feel the pain and love, then I do what I need to do in there. The odors are still as strong as they were when he was alive, and he’s been dead for over 4 years now. And I’m still sorting through stuff in there.
I lost my beautiful mother unexpectedly on August 6. I miss so many wonderful and special things about her: Her mind, keen and curious even at 81. Her concern for her middle child. Her recounting of the tiny details of her daily routine. Mom was an amazing woman who in so many ways did not realize how amazing she was. I grieve her loss every day–and know that, as cancer did three years ago, I have entered a tunnel of newness, a raw wound that will open without warning during my commute, as I go through my work day, as I move from day to day of my first autumn without my mother, my hero.
I feel every word you said here. I lost my mum, 81, at the end of last year unexpectedly. Your mom sounds wonderful, like mine, a hero and I grieve her every minute of every day.
I agree that it’s the everyday, ordinary things I miss. It’s been seven years since I lost my husband, and I still carry that loss around with me wherever I go. My adult children also feel that loss, but in a different way. We all wish he could have met his grandkids, but I think I have a greater sense of emptiness – a kind of hole in my soul.
For me it is mostly in the every day rhythm of life- exactly as your post describes it. Not being able to share cute cat and dog videos with him. He always had the funniest live commentary & voice overs on it that would make me laugh for days. The not being able to tell him about the great email I got from my new boss- he could be so genuinely excited for me and with me. Cooking- we loved cooking together. And thousands of other little every day moments that we shared in our own unique way. The small, every day moments are worse for me than “big” days or events.
For me it’s Rob, my only child, coming into the kitchen saying “what’s to eat mom.” Or watching him get off the bus a block away and walk towards the house. I still see it in my mind. I still hear him speaking to me. It will be a year on Thanksgiving.
“His absence follows me around in the food I don’t make, the movies I don’t watch.” Yes. I’m in my first year without him. Max, my best wee friend in the world, my only kid, my partner in crime, my heart and soul, my everything. He happened to have four legs and a tail and he was all these things to me and so, so much more. The first spring and summer without the favourite walks and beaches were hell. The good weather I loved just taunts me now and I hide from it. I’m struggling through this first autumn without seeing him playing in piles of leaves, facing the long winter without being cosied up together, each of us everything to the other. I can’t even look in the direction of the places we walked, can’t put away his bedding, toys, bowls, nothing; can’t eat the favourite foods we shared; can’t drive without my copilot. His absence sits by me, walks by me, lies with me and in me, just as surely as his presence did. A new version of myself struggles to exist, the one who tries to function and consciously says ‘carry out your duties, try to be present, act normal’, and the real me whose heart lies utterly broken with him in some unknown place, in despair of never knowing if he lives on, if he is okay, if he is waiting for me as I am for him, if we will ever be reunited. And more loss keeps coming, more bad news and I just wonder, what’s the point of loving, just to lose and break over and over and over again.
J Reid, I realize your post is 3 years old, so I don’t know if you’ll see my reply. Your words touched me profoundly. the similarities… I could have written them myself. I want you to know I truly understand your pain. I just lost my 4 legged best friend. The pain is indescribable. May you find some measure of peace.
My baby brother. In the phone calls I can’t make anymore to ask for advice or just talk. In the trips to my home state of Texas and not having him be my first stop. In the many, many memories of days of old when I was the big sister and you were the little guy born during first grade. The little guy who looked up to me and I loved dearly. In the here and now, you are the one I miss the mostest Christopher. Every damn day. It’s been 4 years and I still miss ya.
We’d take the garbage out for each other. I would thank him. He would thank me. Now there’s no audience; no recipient of this odd favor we once performed for each other. It’s just a chore that I carry out, twice weekly, anonymously. There’s no one with whom I can exchange knowing looks when one of the kids is up to antics; the kind that beg for one of his sarcastic responses. It’s not the same experience without him. It’s like a tree falling in the woods with no one there to hear it. There’s no other witness and therefore, it lacks permanence and becomes a fleeting thing. There’s no one around who can keep the house going; he custom built the whole damned thing, to his liking and in his own vision of how things should be built. Contractors scratch their heads and wish me luck as they exit the property without offering a bid. His absence is so constant and permanent, it’s annoying how permanent and final and forever it feels. It’s like a pain in the ass, only it’s a heart ache that I can’t fix; I just squirm in my skin to alleviate the numbness that sets in over time. Three years. Three years. Three years. It gets easier if I want it to, and I do, and it does. But there is this feedback loop that brings me back to the early days, when it was oh so hard, and over time, it takes me a long way past the pain, to the point where I almost think I’m home free. It’s hard work, but I do it every time. Grief is like a hidden figure that steps out of the shadows when I least expect it and says something dreadful like, did you think I would ever leave you? Like an abusive lover, it always returns to inflict a little more pain, and back I go…
Whenever I come home…from anywhere…knowing I am going home to an empty house. Like I used to go study at Starbucks and when I headed home I always got her her Hazelnut Latte, Decaf. Not anymore…..things like that.
Things that happen in the day and i think,i’ll tell Roy when i get home,the flutter of excitement at the end of a day at work which used to mean our lovely evenings together,are now like a brick hanging from my heart,all our little jokes and personal silly stuff that no one else knew about, or would even understand,cooking together in the evening with the opera blasting out in the background,chinking a glass of wine together.Yes the the everyday stuff is the hardest.I love you so much my darling,thankyou X
We know the “big events” are coming up and we can kind of prepare. Those unexpected, frequent ambushes are harder for me.
Making a cup of tea, shortbread biscuits, bedtime reading… Putting on jewelry and high heels. Soccer matches and cricket. Papa Diop died – she’d be so sad. Bap rolls for some reason? Turning off her bedside light every night. Only 3 dinner plates instead of 4… Walking the same paths we used to take together. The moon and stars (she looked every night). Peanut butter cookies I used to make for us. Home-cooked oats. Chicken casserole and peas. Volkswagen beetles. Stephen Leather and Michael Crais books. Movies with Chris Hemsworth…
Loosing my husband 5.5 years ago and the sudden loss of my daughter 2 years ago this March, makes grief an everyday feeling. It never goes away. It’s part of me, in every single thing I do. The mention of cancer or pneumonia is a trigger…. it brings on a sinking feeling; a pit in my stomach, an ache in my heart. Isolation or being alone makes it worse. If I keep busy, I can “feel”, laugh, smile, breath. Not feel pain for that moment. But when I’m alone, I find myself consumed. It’s exhausting.
I feel like it’s aging me, killing me slowly.
If I don’t feel grief for a moment, I feel guilt. Guilt that I’m here and they’re not; guilt I didn’t do more. I. Any say anything specific because everything at one time or another, brings on the pain of grief.
One thing I do know is that I would never want to trade my grief for a moment if it meant not thinking of them every possible moment because to me, that’s what keeps them alive in me. They’re laugh, comments, jokes, dinners they loved, warmest hugs and kisses, places we loved to go, thoughts we shared, our family gatherings. People talking about their loved ones, relationships, kids brings a lot of flashbacks and pain sometimes.
It scares me to distance myself from thinking about them because then they are further away from me. Maybe that’s the issue. I don’t know. Grief is an everyday thing.
I’m only a week out from losing my son…everything hurts.
I’m so very sorry, Denise. Every comment that I read here describes my experience almost perfectly. It eases my anxiety to know I’m not alone in this pain.
I lost my son 6 months ago 10 days after seeing him (after almost 2 years not because of Covid in the world). It was sudden and unexpected. The grief is constant . He was 45 my only child and I miss him terribly every day
I can’t listen to country music anymore. My husband loved country music and he would sing popular songs but with naughty lyrics, whispered in my ear so no one else could hear just to watch my face turn red. I miss his laugh, his smile, his voice and even his corny jokes. I miss his big belly and his full body hugs. I miss…I miss…I miss. It will be 2 years this coming July. Some days I get through without tears but some days it still crashes over me and I just can’t believe he won’t be walking through the door.
The weekends are hardest for me. It has only been 2 months since losing my mom and its been horrible. Going to the grocery store is anxiety attacks waiting to happen because she always went with me every Sunday. Mother’s day is approaching and I am literally dreading it and I am a mom myself.
It has been 9 years for me and so often it feels like just yesterday….I feel his presence, his love, his kindness every morning when I thank the Lord for all my blessings and being so grateful for experiencing true love in my life.
I miss everything about my son. His infectious laugh, his strong hugs, his crazy stories, him leaving candy wrappers in all his pockets , everything. What I miss most is him coming in from a date and sitting on my bed to tell me all about it. He was my favorite person in the world! My world will never be okay without him in it.
I miss him everyday everytime ,his smiling face is always in front of my eyes and can hear his voice uttering my name.I understand everything that he has gone forever but still i feel like he will come back or he is in some other place.when it came to my mind that the days we spent together will never come back my heart beats first and i feel less of oxygen.How am i suppose to live my life i really dnt know.
It can be anything, from a holiday, to someone else’s special event. Recently my son’s friend got married, and his past girlfriend just had a baby. These triggers, come out of anywhere, and sometimes catch us by surprise. I watch life go on for everyone, and wonder in pain, why my son didn’t have that opportunity.
It’s only been a year since my husband died. Afternoons are really hard, coming home from work and he’s not there. Sometimes I sit in my car for a while before going in. Sundays are hard too. I miss our Sunday ritual especially going out for breakfast and a drive.
For over forty years, we had evening routines. Those routines changed over the decades, but we always came together in the evening for whatever that year’s routines included. So, I am most bereft in those hours after dinner and before sleep, when our routines would play themselves out. For the last several years of his life, those routines were care taking routines. I miss taking care of him.
Several months after my husband died I saw a couple dancing on tv. I realized I would never dance with him again, and feel his arms around me, my head on his chest. It was heartbreaking!
The hardest things are the small ones. My daughter came home talking about her friend who just turned 14 on the 14th. Then she asked if she’d be 15 on the 15th next year. We started to explain that everyone (naming family members and their dates) does this once depending on their date of birth. Then both burst into tears as our son who passed in July won’t turn 26 on the 26th. He’s only 19. He won’t turn 20 this November 26th. He’s gone.
Not having my husband to share the grief of losing my daughter as well, every day is hard
It’s only been five weeks and one day. My son left me on a Rollercoaster of emotions and sometimes, I’m not even sure what it is that sends me into the most intense bone racking convulsive fits of crying. It can be anything. The thought of Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, his birthday, Monday, Wednesday, a trip to Walmart….. I miss him more than I miss my own breath when I try to hold it too long. It’s still so fresh for me. I wonder if it ever won’t be. You know, the pain I can take. It’s missing him that I can’t.
I miss the routines at the end of the day. Over the course of 40 years, those routines changed, but they were always there. It was time when we turned toward each other and spent time tending to each other’s needs–emotional, physical, logistical. It was the time when we took care of each other. I miss taking care of him.
It’s hugs. My son was a hugger. Nobody else in the family really is. I never really thought about it until it was just gone. I miss them & him like crazy.
Late night when Grace would come home from an evening with her friends and be super talkative. Mid morning when she would stroll around the corner to the kitchen looking for something to eat. And this evening when I watched her friends play volleyball at her school and all could think was ‘she should be here.. she WOULD be here, waiting to hang out with them all after the game’. Grace forever 16
“” It’s the ordinary days, the domestic and intimate every-day days that really hurt. The one you love is missing in the every day, the normal moments. “”
YES, so true. I was talking to my sister while walking in the pouring rain today with tears in my eyes (I’m in BC, so I understand your weather). I am not sad for my sister … I’m so very sad for myself. Can’t stop missing/grieving her amazing presence in my life !!!!!
Every time I walk anywhere—my husband Bob always held my hand.
Every night we fell asleep my hand in his.
Every morning I would slide over & put my head on his shoulder with my arm draped over his chest & he would have his arm around me—we would say good morning to each other & no matter what, all was right in our world, just because we were together.
That’s all we wanted was time together, to just be together.
It’s a constant, painful, gaping hole…
For me it’s the mornings that are hardest! My special needs daughter was 24 hour care! She was 20 when she passed, and I was home with her all those 20 years. The morning routine is no here anymore, waking her up for her feed, her meds, sitting her in the kitchen while I cleaned. She was always the first person I seen in the morning! The house is too quiet, which is weird cuz she never spoke a word . I feel like I’ve list my purpose, she was my purpose, my life! It’s been a little over a month and I miss her more everyday
What are the joys of little big love?
The forehead kisses and shared laughter?
Complicit glances to lil’ brother?
Your sense of humour like no other?
Those and so many more to think of
Best times are made of little big love