Susan Rardon
Rose, Ph.D.
This simple yet profound thought resonates deeply with every widow or widower I’ve spoken to. While it’s a sentiment often kept within the quiet circles of widowhood, it deserves to be brought into the light. Let’s address the elephant in the room: some days are harder than others. And on those especially difficult days, it’s okay to take solace in the idea that we’ve made it through one more day—one day closer to seeing our loved ones again.
This doesn’t mean we’re wishing our lives away. I’m deeply grateful for the moments I get to witness my children's and grandchildren’s lives unfold, for the joy and laughter that still exists in this world. Yet, alongside this gratitude, there’s an ache that never quite goes away. I miss him — his presence, his laughter, his love. Grief and gratitude often coexist, proving that sadness and happiness can share the same space.
These feelings often surface around anniversaries or particularly difficult times. As we move into the month of his birthday, April 22, I'm reminded again of that flood of emotions that ebbs and flows. On those difficult days, the ache of his absence feels even more profound, and the idea of being one day closer to him offers a glimmer of comfort. There are days when the weight of his absence feels unbearable. On those days, I cling to the idea that every day brings me closer to the moment I’ll see him again. It’s not about rushing through life or failing to appreciate the present. It’s about finding comfort in the eternal bond we share, knowing that this separation is temporary in the grand scheme of eternity.
Hope is a powerful thing. It’s what allows us to navigate the complexities of grief while still engaging with the world around us. Hope reminds me that while I’m physically separated from him, the love we shared continues to guide me. It gives me the courage to face each day, even when the path feels uncertain or difficult.
Talking with others who understand this feeling has been invaluable. There’s a unique comfort in knowing you’re not alone in these thoughts. Sharing this perspective with others who have walked similar paths creates a space for understanding and solidarity. It’s a reminder that while grief is deeply personal, it’s also a shared experience.
Every day is a gift, even when it’s tinged with sadness. I try to focus on the beauty and love that still surround me, from the milestones of my children and grandchildren to the simple joys of daily life. These moments don’t erase the pain, but they add layers of meaning and purpose to the journey.
“One day closer to him.” This thought is both a comfort and a compass, guiding me through the waves of grief. It’s a reminder that the love we shared is eternal and that this temporary separation will one day come to an end. Until then, I will continue to live fully, cherish the blessings of today, and hold onto the hope of a future reunion. Because love, in its truest form, transcends time, space, and even the veil of eternity.
I am a school counselor turned counselor educator, professor, and author helping educators and parents to build social, emotional, and academic growth in ALL kids! The school counseling blog delivers both advocacy as well as strategies to help you deliver your best school counseling program.
I'm a mother, grandmother, professor, author, and wife (I'll always be his). Until October 20, 2020, I lived with my husband, Robert (Bob) Rose, in Louisville, Ky. On that awful day of October 20,2020, my life profoundly changed, when this amazing man went on to Heaven. After Bob moved to Heaven, I embraced my love of writing as an outlet for grief. Hence, the Grief Blog is my attempt to share what I learned as a Counselor in education with what I am learning through this experience of walking this earth without him. My mission is to help those in grief move forward to see joy beyond this most painful time.
Useful Links