The thing about grief, is there is no place it doesn’t touch, no thing it doesn't change

I was thinking about the things that have changed in my life since Justin died. I realized there is not a single thing that hasn’t changed.  Every part of my life has changed because he touched every part of my life.

There is no minute in my day that isn’t touched by grief, from how I sleep to the way I get ready in the morning. I don’t have to share my bathroom and I don’t have to be quiet when I get around in my room. He isn’t there sleeping when I get in the shower. He isn't snoring, and I don't have to worry about waking him up with my alarm when I hit snooze four times.

The food in my refrigerator has changed. I barely buy bread, and I don’t buy the things that only he loved. How we eat has changed. I no longer have someone who appreciates the dinner that I make. I don’t have a cooking partner. I don’t care about cooking anymore and I don’t have time. The grill and the smoker haven’t been used in 2 1/2 years. 

The mail in my mailbox has changed. Almost everything is addressed to me, but every once in a while there is that one thing addressed to Justin. It might as well be printed in bright red, 72 pt font for as much as it stands out to me, and makes me think, he doesn't live here anymore.

My work has changed. I got a new job to be in town and have more flexibility and less stress. My priorities have changed. I know just how short life is. I know that we have no guarantee of time.  I know that at any minute we can get in a car accident, get a diagnosis, or just die in our sleep. Sorry, not sorry, it is true. Our time is limited. I will not waste my time on pursuit of a career. I will not focus on bigger and better. I will focus on here and now; on the race set before me. 

My hopes and wishes have changed. All I want is to live long enough that my children don't become orphans. All I want is to find more joy because it keeps me sane. I have relearned self-care.  I am learning to enjoy my own company. I am learning to slow down. I am learning to give up my illusion of control. My hobbies have changed. I do new things like go to counseling, write a blog, and go to workout. 

Each hard thing is one more thing he isn’t here to talk to about. Each good thing is one more thing he isn’t here to see and rejoice in. Each stage and change with the girls is one more thing he isn’t there for. Each weekend and plus one, is one more reminder that I am alone. Holidays have changed, birthdays have changed, and anniversaries are definitely not the same. 

My heart is more fragile and my compassion is greater. My trust is damaged and my vulnerability is out in the open. I have done things I never thought I would do. I am friends with people I never would have met if Justin hadn’t died. I have survived and grown in ways I never imagined.

My identity has changed. My future is not the same. My sex life has definitely changed. Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, but this is a part of my reality. I had sex with my husband for 19 years and now I have none. This is definitely one of those things you don't think about how much it will affect you, until it does. My work load has changed. I feel like I have four full time jobs. One where I get paid, one where I am Mom, one where I am Dad and one where I manage all the grief. I am constantly convinced I am doing none of them well.

My faith changed. I have seen on a daily basis how God has held us, provided for us, guided us, protected us and just sat with us in the sad, the mad, the anxious and the oh so hard. I know without a shadow of a doubt where my hope lives. 

I am broken, but healing and the pieces don’t fit back together the way they used to. I am me, but different. There is no place that grief doesn’t touch from the top of your head to the bottom of tour toes. And the thing is, you cannot even understand until it is you. Until you are the one standing there answering the hard questions at that funeral home, you can’t get it. Until you are the one with the hole in your life and your heart, you won’t understand. Until you survive the firsts, and the seconds, and then the part where it all feels like a lifetime ago, but still invades every part of your day, you won’t know. 

He was part of my life for 20 years, and I figure if I get 20 more he will still be a part. He is in my girls, in my heart, and in every nook and cranny in my life.