Moving Through the Unimaginable One Day at a Time

As I move forward and try to make sense of this new version of my life, I can’t stop thinking about the man who was my sunup to sundown—my ride or die. Every single day reality slaps me across the face, reminding me of my truth. The truth is I don’t want to move on without him, but I have no choice but to walk through this grief and hope I can somehow rebuild something resembling a new life.

So, each morning, I lie in my bed, inhale deeply, exhale slowly, and plant one foot on the floor… then the other. I begin my day without a clear path, just motion. I’m grateful to be back at work, but even then I catch myself floating between two different worlds. One where I felt safe, secure, and deeply loved—a world that was built with dreams, with plans, with retirement in our sights. And the other… this one. Unfamiliar. Uncertain. A world where I’m left wondering if I’ll ever feel joy like that again. Wondering if I’ll survive this loss.

But then an amazing thing happens. After putting both feet on the floor, I move through every day, not with the ease I once had, but with the determination that I will take this new reality one day at a time and push through the day.

Steps to My New Normal

Yesterday my son and I visited family. It was nice to get out of our house and be around new energy that loves and supports us. We had a great time, but in time, my energy drifted back to my old world, wishing Eddie was with us.

Today, my two feet hit the floor. I stepped outside. I wrote. I cried. I laughed. I drank water, ate a little something, walked, and breathed. Even the basics feel like mountains some days, but I keep showing up for them. I get there—even if it takes time. And that, right there, gives me hope.

To anyone out there feeling the way I do—unsure if you can keep going—I see you. I feel you. And I feel for you. This road is hard, and the weight can feel impossible some days. What I’m learning is that allowing myself to sit with the pain, reaching out when I need support, and staying even a little open to whatever comes next—that’s what’s helping me make it through each day.

I have to believe I’ll be OK. That belief isn’t just for me—it’s how I honor the life I still have ahead of me. And just as important, it’s how I honor Eddie. He’d want me to find joy again. To feel light again. To live a full, beautiful life—the best one I can.