Moving Through The Calendar One Day at a Time

How I face the days that try to break me

I started this blog to make sense of the heartbreak of losing Eddie—to waking up every day with questions like, “Why me?” and “How am I supposed to survive this?” Some days, I don’t have answers. But every now and then, a glimmer of hope sneaks in. A reminder that I will survive this. That I’ll come out the other side forever changed—not just because I lost Eddie, but mostly because I met him. Knowing him reshaped how I see the world.

Writing helps. Somehow, the words that spill out through my keyboard give me the courage to keep going. Not quickly, not dramatically, but at a pace that feels like movement, even when I can’t see it.

Thursday would’ve been our four-year wedding anniversary. I’m not sure how I feel about that yet. Sad, of course. Eddie’s not here to celebrate with me. But there’s also this quiet part of me that feels grateful. I had over five full years with a man who loved me unconditionally—and I loved him right back. That makes me smile.

I’m RSVPing Yes!

I’ve decided that instead of sitting at home in the sadness, I made a dinner reservation at one of our favorite restaurants. I’ll go. I’ll eat. I’ll think about how much I loved that man. I might even laugh to myself, because eating at restaurants was one of the places we really connected. We’d taste each other’s meals, try to guess if the couple next to us was dating or married, and without fail, Eddie would finish whatever I couldn’t eat.

I miss him. I love him. And on Thursday, I’ll celebrate the day we promised to love each other through the good and the bad—until death did us part.

I’ve made a choice not to run from the hard days. And trust me, that’s not always easy. There’ve been plenty of mornings where I’ve stayed in bed until noon, staring at the ceiling and wondering how to begin. But I try to do something each day—however small—because the alternative just isn’t an option. I know, deep down, Eddie is still here. Not in the way I wish, but in spirit. He’s my quiet compass, my guiding light, nudging me to keep going, to find meaning, and to live a life that feels true.

So I Write

• I write for myself because it helps me breathe.
• I write because letting it out is better than holding it in.
• I write for anyone who’s grieving, or who loves someone who is.
• I write because maybe, just maybe, it’ll help someone else feel less alone.

Grief is uncomfortable to talk about. It’s one of those emotions no one wants to feel—but we all will, someday. And how we move through it? That part’s up to us.

Lately, I’ve been sitting with a new perspective. The pain can be unbearable at times, truly. But as many grief specialists say, the depth of grief is a testament to the depth of the love. And somehow, knowing that makes me feel lucky. Lucky that I got to love so deeply—especially after believing that kind of love might never come my way.

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