Profoundly Changed
Moving forward with love…
GRIEF: THE PRICE OF LOVE
When we love deeply, we grieve deeply. I’ve come to understand that grief is not simply the pain of losing someone we love. It is also the continuing presence of that love in a life that has been profoundly changed by their absence.
In the days and weeks after Bob moved to Heaven, I was overwhelmed by the intensity of my grief. I wondered whether the ache in my heart would always be so consuming. I couldn’t imagine a future in which I would experience genuine happiness without him.
More than four years later, I can honestly say that I have more good days than bad. I laugh. I enjoy my grandchildren. I find happiness in ordinary moments and look forward to new experiences. But I still miss Bob.
And I’ve come to realize that these two truths are not contradictory.
Grief and Love: Two Sides of the Same Coin
I’ve often heard grief described as the price we pay for love. There is something meaningful in that expression, although I’m not sure grief is a price we consciously agree to pay.
When Bob and I married, I wasn’t thinking about the heartbreak that might someday come. I was thinking about the life we would build together.
We shared decades of love, laughter, challenges, ordinary days, and extraordinary memories. We raised our children, welcomed grandchildren, and dreamed about the years still ahead of us. And then, suddenly, the future we had imagined was gone.
I sometimes remind myself that I didn’t lose Bob in the sense of not knowing where he is. My faith assures me that he is in Heaven, walking on streets of gold with Jesus, free from the pain and suffering he endured here.
That knowledge brings me comfort beyond words. But it doesn’t make me miss him any less.
I miss his voice, his laughter, his companionship, and the countless ordinary ways he made me feel loved. I miss being his wife in the everyday sense of sharing our lives together.
His absence hurts so deeply because his presence meant so much. Yet, even knowing the heartbreak I would eventually experience, I would choose our life together all over again.
Faith Doesn't Erase Grief
Faith has been my anchor throughout this journey. I believe Bob is with Jesus, and I believe that one day we will be reunited. But I’ve also learned that faith and grief are not opposites.
Yet, even within faith, there are moments that test us. In the weeks after Bob died, someone who knew us both said to me, “Maybe you didn’t pray enough.” Those words pierced me deeply. This was someone who knew our faith. Someone who knew how desperately we had prayed and how hard we had fought for Bob’s life.
What hurt most was the implication that I (as well as Bob, our family and friends…) had somehow failed my husband. That perhaps, if I had prayed harder or believed more strongly, Bob would still be here. I knew better. I knew that faith isn’t measured by whether our prayers receive the answers we desperately want. But knowing that didn’t make those words any less painful.
During Bob’s illness, I prayed, pleaded, and bargained with God. I searched for every possible treatment and held on to the hope that he would be healed this side of Heaven. Bob, whose faith was extraordinary, sometimes seemed more at peace with what was happening than I could bear to be. He told me that God might choose to save him on the other side of Heaven. I wasn’t ready for that answer. I wanted my husband here.
I’ve come to understand that faith is not a transaction with God. It’s about trust, surrender, and the belief that God’s plans are greater than our understanding. We cannot earn a miracle through the strength of our prayers, and losing someone we love is not evidence that our faith was insufficient. I believe God hears and answers every prayer. I also believe that my heartbreak is not a failure of faith.
I am still Bob’s wife, living here without him. My faith gives me hope, but it doesn’t eliminate the longing for his presence.
And I don’t believe it is supposed to.
When Opposing Emotions Coexist
One of the things I’ve come to understand about grief is that seemingly contradictory emotions can exist within us at the same time.
I can be genuinely happy and profoundly sad. I can be grateful for the life Bob and I shared while grieving the years we didn’t get to have. I can find tremendous joy in my grandchildren while feeling the ache of knowing their Papa isn’t here to watch them grow. And I can have unwavering faith in God while still struggling with the heartbreak of losing my husband.
I’ve often wondered why we find this so difficult to understand. Perhaps it’s because grief makes people uncomfortable. We want sadness to give way to happiness, despair to be replaced by hope, and grief to eventually become gratitude. We look for signs that someone is doing better, as though healing means leaving the painful feelings behind.
Sometimes people encourage us to focus on our blessings, to be thankful for the years we had, or to find comfort in knowing our loved ones are in a better place. I understand those sentiments. I really do. But they can unintentionally suggest that gratitude should somehow replace heartbreak.
I’ve had people tell me, “But you should be thankful for the love.” Believe me, I am. I am profoundly grateful that Bob and I shared the life we did. Being his wife was one of the greatest blessings of my life. But gratitude doesn’t remove the heartbreak of missing him.
I’ve discovered that these emotions don’t necessarily replace one another. They coexist.
Being thankful doesn’t mean I’m no longer heartbroken. Having faith doesn’t mean I never question or struggle. Finding happiness doesn’t mean I’ve stopped missing Bob. And moving forward doesn’t mean leaving him behind.
We don’t have to resolve every contradiction in grief. Sometimes we simply have to make room for both truths.
Finding Joy Without Leaving Grief Behind
One of the greatest joys in my life is spending time with my grandchildren. Their laughter, their excitement, their accomplishments, and the ordinary moments we share bring me tremendous happiness. But there are also moments when I look at them and think about everything Bob is missing.
I wish he could see how they’re growing. I wish he could hear their laughter and share in their adventures. I wish they could experience more of the love their Papa had for them. Sometimes those thoughts come in the middle of an otherwise wonderful day.
And I’ve learned that I don’t have to choose which emotion to feel. I can laugh with my grandchildren and miss Bob in the very same moment. I can celebrate a birthday, enjoy a family gathering, or make a new memory while wishing he were standing beside me.
For a long time, happiness felt complicated. I sometimes felt guilty for enjoying life when Bob wasn’t here to share it. But I’ve come to understand that experiencing joy doesn’t diminish the love I have for him. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten him.
It means I’m still living, still loving, and still making memories in a life that will always carry his absence.
There are days when the sunshine feels a little warmer, the laughter comes more easily, and the memories bring more smiles than tears. There are also days when I would give anything for one more ordinary afternoon with my husband.
Both kinds of days belong to my grief. And both belong to my life.
The Love That Remains
I still think about the expression that grief is the price of love. Perhaps there is truth in it. Loving someone deeply means allowing that person to become part of who we are. When they’re no longer physically present, their absence touches countless parts of our lives.
But I don’t want to think of my grief as a debt I owe for having loved Bob. I think of it as one of the ways that love continues.
I grieve because he mattered. Because our marriage mattered. Because the life we built together was precious to me. And I will continue to love him for as long as I live.
I wouldn’t trade a single year of our marriage to escape the grief I carry today. If I could go back, knowing everything I know now, I would still choose Bob. Every time.
I can be grateful for the blessing of being his wife and heartbroken that he isn’t here beside me. I can have faith in Heaven and still ache for the life we shared on earth. I can find happiness in today while longing for yesterday. Both are true. Both are love.
Moving forward with love…
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