Not the Email List I Wanted to Be On

Grief avoidance—that’s a term I just learned yesterday. It popped up in one of the many emails I’ve been getting from various organizations offering grief counseling. Not exactly the email list I wanted to be on.

Avoiding grief can take on so many forms. Steering clear of anything that reminds you of your loved one just to dodge the pain of loss.

• certain songs because they bring back memories
• driving past their workplace
• staying out of specific rooms in your home
• avoiding familiar scents.

Sometimes, these avoidances are intentional, and other times they happen without even realizing it—because anything that reminds you of what’s gone can cut too deep. I’m lucky that, for now, I haven’t reached that point. My home still brings me comfort, even though it’s the place where Eddie passed. This is where he and I found peace together. His cologne, his things, his presence—they still give me a sense of him.

But my version of grief avoidance has taken a different shape. My grief is tied up in the exhausting responsibility of managing Eddie’s affairs. My days have become a long list of phone calls and paperwork—alerting Social Security, hiring an attorney to handle his estate, tracking down open accounts, making sure his children and I receive the things he wanted us to have. It’s overwhelming.

Beneath all that, grief avoidance is tangled with anger and fear.

I’m angry that Eddie is gone. Our time was far too short. Angry that I’ve been forced into this position. Some days, I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that this is my life now. And I’m scared—scared because my world has been flipped upside down, and I have no idea what the future looks like without him in it. Our story was just beginning.

And beyond all that, I’m afraid because my life was built around Eddie. Financially, in some ways—we split everything 50/50 when it came to household expenses. But it goes so much deeper than that.

Eddie was my stabilizing force. He was my comfort, my steady presence, my safe place. He reassured me when life felt overwhelming, gave me perspective when my mind raced too fast, and held space for me in a way no one else ever has.

Now, without him, everything feels uncertain. The ground beneath me doesn’t feel solid anymore. And I don’t know what my life is supposed to look like without him in it.