A Foot in Two Different Worlds

Life doesn’t pause when you lose someone you love. It just keeps moving, and somehow, you’re expected to move with it.

Lately, I feel completely worn down—mentally and emotionally. It’s not just grief anymore. It’s this constant ache, like I’m floating without a destination. I keep asking myself, Where do I fit now? When I’m home, wrapped in the world Eddie and I built, I feel a sense of comfort. The memories are everywhere, and being there lets me feel all of my feelings without needing to apologize. I get angry. I cry—big, ugly cries. I ask, “Why me?” and my body trembles because I’m scared of what’s ahead.

Then I step outside the comfort of my own space, and something shifts. A different version of me takes over—polished, smiling, functional. I show up, I do what’s expected. I laugh when I need to, talk when I’m supposed to. But inside… it feels hollow. Like I’ve put on someone else’s skin.

The cashier asks how I’m doing, and I say “fine,” but in my mind I whisper, “I’m falling apart.”

I sit in meetings, I answer emails, I participate. But part of me wants to stand up and say, “Can we just stop pretending everything is normal? Because the love of my life is gone, and nothing feels normal to me anymore.”

I go through the motions, but there’s a piece of me that can admit that I’m still just trying to figure out how to keep breathing without Eddie.

Some Good

Even with one foot in each world, I still stumble across moments that make me smile.

Like the bumper sticker I saw the other day on the car in front of me: “Student Driver – I’m freaking trying.” And I thought, same.

Or watching the little kids playing in my neighborhood park without a single care, just laughter and joy.

And then there are the memories of Eddie—the ones that sneak up on me and break through the heaviness, like sunlight on a cloudy day. The way he laughed, the quiet things he did without needing credit. Those moments will always live in me. And somehow, they still make me smile.

Neither world feels like a place I want to stay forever. But right now, this in-between, this unsettled space… it’s where I am. And for now, that has to be enough.

I know I’m not the same person I once was. Grief has changed me in ways I’m still learning to name. But deep down, I believe that when the time comes—when I’m ready to plant both feet in whatever’s next—I’ll be okay.

Not the same, but okay.

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