Becoming Widowed in my Mid-thirties
It was never part of the plan… He was my forever person. We had just bought our ‘forever home’ and dedicated the best part of 17 years to each other. We had built the life of our dreams and were working towards our future goals together. We were best friends, lovers, but most of all, we were a unit.
We were all of the above, until that day when we no longer were… The day that changed everything. The day that changed our little family. The day that changed me, for good.
When you’re presented with life-shattering news which I can only describe as a death sentence, your whole perception of life and death truly becomes dishevelled. To be told that your husband’s cancer had returned and sadly there were limited options to preserve his life is unimaginable. Two words that haunt me to this day – ‘inoperable’ and ‘incurable’.
When someone you love with all your being is faced with such inadmissible news, how do you even begin to comprehend?
You don’t.
Well at least, as I write, I still can’t.
Just over a year has passed since we lost him. He was 38 and I was 35. Our two young children were 4 and 8 at the time. I don’t know how we have made it to today, but we have. And for that, I can breathe a sigh of relief.
There was a time when I genuinely did not believe that I could make it to the next minute. There were many moments when I simply did not want to make it. But I have. Mostly day by day, sometimes moment by moment or even breath by breath. No day feels the same. But one thing I know to be true is that no matter how heavy it feels in the present, the future will always lighten the past.
