Five Years Without Him – The Blessing of Being His Wife
It’s hard to believe that five years have passed since I last held his hand, heard his laughter, or felt the warmth of his presence beside me. Five years since I said goodbye to the love of my life—my amazing husband, my steady rock, my best friend.
Grief is strange that way. Time passes, but love doesn’t fade. In some ways, it grows deeper, more layered, more sacred. I’ve learned that love doesn’t end when a heartbeat stops—it simply shifts form. It lingers in the memories, in the lessons, in the family we created together.
For 37 years, I had the privilege of calling him my husband. Thirty-seven years of laughter, faith, adventures, hard work, and unconditional love. We built a life, a family, and a legacy that continues to live on. When I look at our children and grandchildren, I see him so clearly—the same spark in their eyes, the same kindness in their hearts, the same strength and humor that carried us through so much. It fills me with an indescribable joy to see his DNA walking this journey with me, carrying pieces of him into the future.
I used to ask why—why such a good, godly man was called home too soon. But now I find myself asking how—how did I get so blessed to have been loved by him at all? To have shared a life so full, so faithful, so intertwined with purpose and grace?
The ache of missing him never disappears, but neither does the gratitude. Gratitude for the years we shared. Gratitude for the lessons he left behind. Gratitude for the family that still gathers around his memory, keeping his light alive.
I’ve learned that survival isn’t just about enduring the loss—it’s about cherishing the gift. It’s realizing that I don’t have to let go of love to move forward. I can carry it with me, in every smile, every story, every prayer whispered in thanks for the blessing of having been his wife.
Five years later, I am still profoundly changed. Still deeply loved. Still walking hand in hand with his memory and with the God who gave us each other.
And that, I’ve come to see, is the truest kind of forever.
