40 Days and a Song

Forty days.

It sounds like a long time when I say it, but it really isn't.

There are still moments when I instinctively want to tell my husband something, turn to him, or look for him... and then for a brief second, I remember that I can't.

Grief is strange that way. Life continues, but your mind doesn't always catch up.

And sometimes, a song comes on.

Leaves by Ben&Ben was one of my husband's favorite songs. I heard it so many times - while he was getting ready for work in the mornings, and in the car while he was driving me home. It was simply part of our everyday life.

Back then, I never really paid much attention to the lyrics. Now, I do.

It's funny how a song can stay exactly the same, but somehow mean something completely different because of what you've been through. When I hear Leaves now, some of the words feel very close to where I am.

All Will Be Alright in Time

This is the line that stays with me the most: “All will be alright in time.”

I want to believe it. But sometimes I still wonder what “alright” actually means now.  It doesn't mean I will stop missing my husband. I don't think I ever will.  And I don't think being alright means forgetting him.  Maybe it simply means learning to live with the fact that he is no longer here.

I want to remember more than the last six months. More than his illness. More than the difficult days and the day I lost him.  I want to remember the years before all of that.

The man he was. The things he loved. His little habits and preferences. Our morning routines. The drives home. The conversations. The jokes. The ordinary days that didn't seem particularly important at the time.  Those are the things I want to hold on to.

Maybe, in time, I will be able to look back at our life and feel more grateful for what we had, than sad about what I lost.

Learning to Let Go

The song also makes me think about letting go.  There are so many things in life that we simply cannot control.

We make plans. We imagine the future. We assume there will be more time.  But sometimes, there isn't.

I've come to realize that letting go doesn't mean letting go of my husband.  It means slowly letting go of the things I cannot change, the questions I don't have answers to, the things I wish had happened differently, and the future I thought we would have.  I'm still learning how to do that.

And somewhere in the middle of all this, I find comfort in my faith.

I don't understand why God allowed things to happen the way they did, and I probably never will. But I choose to trust Him.

I believe my husband is now in His loving care, free from the pain he went through. And I pray that God gives me the grace and strength to take each day as it comes.

Forgiving Myself

And then there are the "what ifs".

What if I had done more?

What if I had said something differently?

What if I had been more patient, more present, or more understanding?

These thoughts come and go. Sometimes they appear when I least expect them.  But I know I cannot go back and change those moments.

So I am also learning to forgive myself.

I wasn't a perfect wife. He wasn't a perfect husband. We were simply two imperfect people who loved each other, built a life together, had good days and difficult ones, made mistakes, and kept going.

I don't want the what ifs to erase everything that was good.  There was laughter. There were conversations. There were little routines that became part of our life. There were so many ordinary days that I now realize weren't ordinary at all.

Those are the memories I want to keep.

In Time

Forty days is not a long time.

I am still very much in the middle of grief. I don't know what healing will look like, and I don't think I need to know yet.  For now, I'm just taking things one day at a time.  Maybe that's what “in time” means for me.

Not that everything will suddenly be okay.  Not that I will stop missing him.

But that, slowly, I will learn how to live with this new reality.

I hope that one day, when I hear Leaves, I will still miss him, but I will also smile because I remember that it was one of his favorite songs.

It will always remind me of him, of our life together, and of the years we shared.  And perhaps that's enough.

I don't have to let go of him to move forward. I just have to learn how to carry his memory with me in a different way.

For now, I'm still learning.

And I'm holding on to the words I need most:

All will be alright in time.