I have spent more years than I care to count what if-ing.. and still, 22 years later I do it. I play the game. I'm a completely different person, but also still me and I'd like to believe that even though death has changed me, so did his life. That's what I hold onto when the grief wave comes, that has become my life preserver, his life changed mine in some of the best ways.
I love you friend. Thank you for connecting us all and being the raw and real you <3
That's so beautiful Mesa. You are just such a wise person, and so generous. I'm not sure what I did to call such a special woman into my life, but I'm grateful. I love you too. ❤️❤️❤️
Amy, this speaks with such clarity and wisdom. Grief is not a single emotion. You can feel intense pain, and then joy. It’s okay to like the person you’ve become. Or make a change you felt you couldn’t while he was still with you. Your world isn’t a dark shrine. Thank you for saying this so beautifully. Hugs.💕❤️🥰🫶
" I cry for the person I’ve become who only exists because Steven died, and I kind of like her." THIS. I feel such guilt sometimes for liking myself now, all these years after losing Stu, and I too wonder if he'd even recognize me. Sending you (and your son) hugs. Thanks for such a beautiful piece.
Amy, this is so relatable to me. Thank you for writing this honest piece.
Your note hit me hard because I could imagine myself in your place, out there in LA, needing to get back home. I've never talked to anyone about my feelings about my daughter's ashes. It's one of those taboo subjects that is so uncomfortable for most people. So I was grateful you mentioned it.
It has been 18 months. I am a "better" person now because of everything I've learned in that time. I feel like I'm closer to the person I'm meant to be. That's a gift of grief. But I miss my daughter and my old life so f*cking much I can barely endure it.
I think about you often Tina. You and Eric and Kiki. How you've turned the worst fucking thing in your life into something beautiful in your writing - and still it's not worth it. There will never be a "good" trade off, never. That's hard to live with because we want to let in some happiness and joy. I know the ashes are a strange thing to think about. Sometimes I imagine taking a handful of him and rubbing it on my skin, just to feel him again. I know it sounds creepy, but sometimes I am so lonely, and missing him so much.
Grief can get tied up with other emotions like guilt, and it coexists with joy (which creates more guilt). I’m so sorry for your loss- that is too young to lose a spouse.
I also like to listen to sad songs and cry. It helps me appreciate what I still have. Jason Isbell’s “When We Were Vampires” is one I play frequently- I think about losing my partner, cry a bit, and it helps me get used to the idea of losing him.
I so love that you just got on the damn plane and went home. Sometimes we bend to our grief, and sometimes it bends us. And the after can never look like the before and it feels disgraceful to like the after maybe even a tiny bit better because that seems to suggest that the before wasn't idyllic because it was. Thank you for sharing the and/both of grief and for giving her an appropriate namesake. 😉
Hi Amy, I'm one of the people who commented on your note, which touched me immensely. Grief is a motherfucker for sure. Once a person we love dies, we are never the same. Sending you virtual love and hugs.
i've said that so many times too. grief is a motherfucker.
but just this morning i was thinking about how I haven't seen my two best friends together since one of our moms passed around this time last year. and in the months leading up to it, we were having frequent 3 way calls with me in LA, one in Chicago and one in Charleston. Now we never do calls.
Altho losing a family member is awful, sometimes it also brings you closer to others still living.
This is so true Elizabeth. I’ve heard it said that grief will rearrange your address book - relationships you thought were rock solid suddenly crumble and strangers often extend the greatest kindnesses. It’s a hard thing to wrap our minds around. I try so hard not to judge anyone for “not showing up” the way I expected because everyone has their own capacity to hold another’s grief. Big hugs 🥰
My son was killed two years ago ... I still haven't truly given myself permission to grieve. I don't think I'm alone on this... That's what is so insidious about grief... You never know when it will overtake you... or where you are.. at the end? in the middle? just beginning? even year's later...
Hi Elizabeth. Grief has its own time outside of regular time. In an instant I can be transported back to the day Steven died, or catapulted into the future we planned that will never be. The more I have accepted that I live in two worlds, one on linear time and the other grief time, it's been a little easier. My expectations for my life have changed, and there is comfort in knowing I have control over that.
Your honesty is so relatable. I am very sorry for your loss. Grief is so nuanced, having so many faces and phases... For me, when I began to let go of my grief, I'd have moments of panic where I was afraid that if I let it go, people including myself, would dismiss or forget how very important it was to me, that I was "OK" with the outcome, like I desired it. In this case, my grief is in having a child, or not having one, I guess. Thanks for sharing, we need more honest conversations about grief, loss, and death. Sending you lots of love. ❤️
"... afraid that if I let it go, people including myself, would dismiss or forget how very important it was to me, that I was 'OK' with the outcome, like I desired it."
I feel this 100%. Even three years after my husband died I feel like if I don't fall apart every once in a while then people (myself included) will forget he died and that I'm still hurting. I don't want anyone to think I'm fine now, that I'm over it. He's not coming back to life, and I miss him and my old life every day.
At the same time, I am doing much better and I love parts of my life now. People aren't used to two opposite feelings being true at the same time. Sending love back to you <3
Your story really struck a chord with me, Amy. The rawness of your words, the unexpected wave of grief that hit you on the anniversary of Steven's death, the need to be close to his ashes — all of that resonated deeply. I understand that duality of feeling both heartbroken and absurd at the same time. Grief truly is a motherfucker.
What you shared about the complicated emotions of grieving — sometimes even finding a strange comfort in the pain — is something I relate to. I haven’t listened to sad songs to lean into grief, but I’ve found myself needing to fully live through the loss to find any kind of peace. After the third death I experienced — two from car crashes and one from cancer — I stopped asking questions that had no answers. I realized I had to acknowledge what I lost and be compassionate with my own feelings.
When my partner died, three days before the world went into lockdown, I found myself alone, sitting with my grief. It forced me to confront parts of myself I’d long buried. I know now I wouldn’t go back to that relationship; she wouldn’t even recognize who I am today.
Your words reminded me that grief is not just a burden; it’s been a relentless teacher and, in some strange way, an unexpected ally on my journey to find my true self.
Thank you for sharing parts of your story with me.
"I realized I had to acknowledge what I lost and be compassionate with my own feelings." This!! 👆
On top of grieving my loss, I was so hard on myself for not "healing faster", for my decreased energy, for my brain fog. It made everything so much worse, and even three years later, sometimes I am still punitive with myself, thinking that my life is so much smaller than what it was.
I really love this, "Grief is not just a burden; it’s been a relentless teacher and, in some strange way, an unexpected ally on my journey to find my true self."
This is the the mind fuck - it's not all bad. And then my brain starts telling me, "Steven died, you are happy with who you've become after he died, therefore, you must be happy Steven died." It's faulty logic, I know that, but it's not always easy to accept.
Part of being human is wanting to make sense of our lives and our experiences. The mentality that everything happens for a reason is hard to let go of. Even if it's true, and everything does happen for a reason, who are we to know what that reason is?
Many people answer those questions with religion, and they find a lot of peace in their faith. I consider myself agnostic, but in my eyes, organized religion was created by rich men to benefit rich men.
Amy, thank you for sharing your thoughts so openly. I deeply resonate with what you said about feeling like life became "smaller" and the struggle with that faulty logic — the mind’s endless attempt to make sense of something so vast, so paradoxical. It's like trying to reconcile the irreconcilable parts of ourselves and our lives.
Grieving is such a complex, relentless teacher, isn’t it? And it has this uncanny way of forcing us to confront every hidden corner of our being. I’ve realized that grief is not just a burden; it's become a profound and unexpected ally on my journey to find my true self. Like you, I have faced the discomfort of embracing the "both/and" — the idea that multiple, seemingly contradictory truths can coexist. It wasn’t easy for me either; it took more than four years, countless hours of coaching and therapy, and over 1.5 million written words of journaling to arrive at this conclusion and accept it.
What finally clicked for me was the realization that life isn't black and white. There is so much nuance in the space between, in the paradoxes. My coach introduced me to the idea of embracing this non-duality back in 2020, inviting me to hold a space where multiple truths coexist. It felt nearly impossible to wrap my head around it initially, but slowly, it began to make sense. Ever since then, life has felt a bit easier, more open. I've come to see these seemingly contradictory layers as different parts of my inner landscape — all trying to protect me, to keep me safe, yet also pushing me to evolve, to learn, to transform. And sometimes, all of that is happening at once, even when it seems impossible.
I often use the metaphor of a canyon to describe my life — with its many layers, each formed by different experiences, influences, and emotions. Sometimes, it doesn't need to make sense. Nowadays, I find myself more at peace with simply holding space for everything that is present, trusting that clarity will come in its own time, like the fog lifting or the smoke from a campfire eventually dissolving into the air.
It’s comforting to know we’re not alone in trying to navigate these complexities. Life truly is more paradoxical than any book, movie, or societal teaching has prepared us for, and that realization itself can be so liberating.
“What finally clicked for me was the realization that life isn't black and white. There is so much nuance in the space between, in the paradoxes.”
So much this 👆
I once wrote that grief is like seeing the full spectrum of gray underneath a rainbow 🌈. Many truths exist simultaneously, and the real work is acceptance although that doesn’t mean we are happy our person died.
I appreciate your wisdom. I hope grievers stumble upon this comment thread and feel less alone too.
Thank you Allison. Yes, you captured exactly how I feel as well. I love this reflection. Grief is such a different experience from what I thought it would be.
Thank you for this Amy. Sad songs are comforting, but introspective writing does something else for me. There are so many things that I want to say, but it is as though there is an invisible catch in my throat --or more accurately my brain, preventing me from doing so.
I am only a few days out, but your description of the emptiness of the bedside table resonated with the emptiness of space next to me in bed. I haven't traversed the imaginary line yet, and am not sure that I ever will. The anxiety is what is most bothersome at the moment. It is so damn unpredictable.
Oh Chris, it's only been a few days? I was dissociated from my grief for a long time, I kept myself so busy so I didn't have to face the emptiness. In hindsight, I wish I could have started feeling it sooner, because I only delayed the start of my grieving process.
For better or worse, I've suffered with anxiety and panic attacks since I was 19, so when Steven died I had done years of therapy and already had anti-anxiety meds (not that I think you or anyone else needs meds). I've spoken to many widows/widowers and anxiety is so common, it's one of those things I wish more people talked about.
Grief is very isolating and lonely, even with people who "get it". The anxiety will get better, but you will always miss your partner. I wish I had the right words to say that would make it better just a little bit. I can tell you that you are not alone, even when it feels that way sometimes.
I have spent more years than I care to count what if-ing.. and still, 22 years later I do it. I play the game. I'm a completely different person, but also still me and I'd like to believe that even though death has changed me, so did his life. That's what I hold onto when the grief wave comes, that has become my life preserver, his life changed mine in some of the best ways.
I love you friend. Thank you for connecting us all and being the raw and real you <3
That's so beautiful Mesa. You are just such a wise person, and so generous. I'm not sure what I did to call such a special woman into my life, but I'm grateful. I love you too. ❤️❤️❤️
Amy, this speaks with such clarity and wisdom. Grief is not a single emotion. You can feel intense pain, and then joy. It’s okay to like the person you’ve become. Or make a change you felt you couldn’t while he was still with you. Your world isn’t a dark shrine. Thank you for saying this so beautifully. Hugs.💕❤️🥰🫶
Thank you Mary. You really have been such a bright light in my life. 🥰❤️😍
" I cry for the person I’ve become who only exists because Steven died, and I kind of like her." THIS. I feel such guilt sometimes for liking myself now, all these years after losing Stu, and I too wonder if he'd even recognize me. Sending you (and your son) hugs. Thanks for such a beautiful piece.
So much this!! ❤️❤️❤️
Thank you Susan. Hugs right back at you and your loves. 🥰
Amy, this is so relatable to me. Thank you for writing this honest piece.
Your note hit me hard because I could imagine myself in your place, out there in LA, needing to get back home. I've never talked to anyone about my feelings about my daughter's ashes. It's one of those taboo subjects that is so uncomfortable for most people. So I was grateful you mentioned it.
It has been 18 months. I am a "better" person now because of everything I've learned in that time. I feel like I'm closer to the person I'm meant to be. That's a gift of grief. But I miss my daughter and my old life so f*cking much I can barely endure it.
I think about you often Tina. You and Eric and Kiki. How you've turned the worst fucking thing in your life into something beautiful in your writing - and still it's not worth it. There will never be a "good" trade off, never. That's hard to live with because we want to let in some happiness and joy. I know the ashes are a strange thing to think about. Sometimes I imagine taking a handful of him and rubbing it on my skin, just to feel him again. I know it sounds creepy, but sometimes I am so lonely, and missing him so much.
Grief can get tied up with other emotions like guilt, and it coexists with joy (which creates more guilt). I’m so sorry for your loss- that is too young to lose a spouse.
I also like to listen to sad songs and cry. It helps me appreciate what I still have. Jason Isbell’s “When We Were Vampires” is one I play frequently- I think about losing my partner, cry a bit, and it helps me get used to the idea of losing him.
Sending you good vibes, Amy.💕
Thank you so much Sheila. Yes, so many emotions intertwined. I'm going to look up that song now.
I so love that you just got on the damn plane and went home. Sometimes we bend to our grief, and sometimes it bends us. And the after can never look like the before and it feels disgraceful to like the after maybe even a tiny bit better because that seems to suggest that the before wasn't idyllic because it was. Thank you for sharing the and/both of grief and for giving her an appropriate namesake. 😉
Thank you sweet Jess. So much wisdom in your words. I can't wait to read your story in the next anthology. You are awesome. 🥰
So incredibly kind of you. I appreciate you. 😘
Hi Amy, I'm one of the people who commented on your note, which touched me immensely. Grief is a motherfucker for sure. Once a person we love dies, we are never the same. Sending you virtual love and hugs.
Thank you so much Beth. Sending you big hugs. 🥰
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Thank you Bonnie ❤️.
i've said that so many times too. grief is a motherfucker.
but just this morning i was thinking about how I haven't seen my two best friends together since one of our moms passed around this time last year. and in the months leading up to it, we were having frequent 3 way calls with me in LA, one in Chicago and one in Charleston. Now we never do calls.
Altho losing a family member is awful, sometimes it also brings you closer to others still living.
This is so true Elizabeth. I’ve heard it said that grief will rearrange your address book - relationships you thought were rock solid suddenly crumble and strangers often extend the greatest kindnesses. It’s a hard thing to wrap our minds around. I try so hard not to judge anyone for “not showing up” the way I expected because everyone has their own capacity to hold another’s grief. Big hugs 🥰
My son was killed two years ago ... I still haven't truly given myself permission to grieve. I don't think I'm alone on this... That's what is so insidious about grief... You never know when it will overtake you... or where you are.. at the end? in the middle? just beginning? even year's later...
Hi Elizabeth. Grief has its own time outside of regular time. In an instant I can be transported back to the day Steven died, or catapulted into the future we planned that will never be. The more I have accepted that I live in two worlds, one on linear time and the other grief time, it's been a little easier. My expectations for my life have changed, and there is comfort in knowing I have control over that.
Grief is a Mother Fucker. I’m doing my best to let it guide me into who I am to become. I want to own it. Thanks for expressing it so well!
Thank you. I know you have had such a hard time as well. 🥰
Hugs. I've been dealing with delayed grief now from years ago. You can only push it back so long. Thanks for sharing
Thank you dear Jane 🥰.
Your honesty is so relatable. I am very sorry for your loss. Grief is so nuanced, having so many faces and phases... For me, when I began to let go of my grief, I'd have moments of panic where I was afraid that if I let it go, people including myself, would dismiss or forget how very important it was to me, that I was "OK" with the outcome, like I desired it. In this case, my grief is in having a child, or not having one, I guess. Thanks for sharing, we need more honest conversations about grief, loss, and death. Sending you lots of love. ❤️
"... afraid that if I let it go, people including myself, would dismiss or forget how very important it was to me, that I was 'OK' with the outcome, like I desired it."
I feel this 100%. Even three years after my husband died I feel like if I don't fall apart every once in a while then people (myself included) will forget he died and that I'm still hurting. I don't want anyone to think I'm fine now, that I'm over it. He's not coming back to life, and I miss him and my old life every day.
At the same time, I am doing much better and I love parts of my life now. People aren't used to two opposite feelings being true at the same time. Sending love back to you <3
Yes. Exactly!
Your story really struck a chord with me, Amy. The rawness of your words, the unexpected wave of grief that hit you on the anniversary of Steven's death, the need to be close to his ashes — all of that resonated deeply. I understand that duality of feeling both heartbroken and absurd at the same time. Grief truly is a motherfucker.
What you shared about the complicated emotions of grieving — sometimes even finding a strange comfort in the pain — is something I relate to. I haven’t listened to sad songs to lean into grief, but I’ve found myself needing to fully live through the loss to find any kind of peace. After the third death I experienced — two from car crashes and one from cancer — I stopped asking questions that had no answers. I realized I had to acknowledge what I lost and be compassionate with my own feelings.
When my partner died, three days before the world went into lockdown, I found myself alone, sitting with my grief. It forced me to confront parts of myself I’d long buried. I know now I wouldn’t go back to that relationship; she wouldn’t even recognize who I am today.
Your words reminded me that grief is not just a burden; it’s been a relentless teacher and, in some strange way, an unexpected ally on my journey to find my true self.
Thank you for sharing parts of your story with me.
"I realized I had to acknowledge what I lost and be compassionate with my own feelings." This!! 👆
On top of grieving my loss, I was so hard on myself for not "healing faster", for my decreased energy, for my brain fog. It made everything so much worse, and even three years later, sometimes I am still punitive with myself, thinking that my life is so much smaller than what it was.
I really love this, "Grief is not just a burden; it’s been a relentless teacher and, in some strange way, an unexpected ally on my journey to find my true self."
This is the the mind fuck - it's not all bad. And then my brain starts telling me, "Steven died, you are happy with who you've become after he died, therefore, you must be happy Steven died." It's faulty logic, I know that, but it's not always easy to accept.
Part of being human is wanting to make sense of our lives and our experiences. The mentality that everything happens for a reason is hard to let go of. Even if it's true, and everything does happen for a reason, who are we to know what that reason is?
Many people answer those questions with religion, and they find a lot of peace in their faith. I consider myself agnostic, but in my eyes, organized religion was created by rich men to benefit rich men.
Amy, thank you for sharing your thoughts so openly. I deeply resonate with what you said about feeling like life became "smaller" and the struggle with that faulty logic — the mind’s endless attempt to make sense of something so vast, so paradoxical. It's like trying to reconcile the irreconcilable parts of ourselves and our lives.
Grieving is such a complex, relentless teacher, isn’t it? And it has this uncanny way of forcing us to confront every hidden corner of our being. I’ve realized that grief is not just a burden; it's become a profound and unexpected ally on my journey to find my true self. Like you, I have faced the discomfort of embracing the "both/and" — the idea that multiple, seemingly contradictory truths can coexist. It wasn’t easy for me either; it took more than four years, countless hours of coaching and therapy, and over 1.5 million written words of journaling to arrive at this conclusion and accept it.
What finally clicked for me was the realization that life isn't black and white. There is so much nuance in the space between, in the paradoxes. My coach introduced me to the idea of embracing this non-duality back in 2020, inviting me to hold a space where multiple truths coexist. It felt nearly impossible to wrap my head around it initially, but slowly, it began to make sense. Ever since then, life has felt a bit easier, more open. I've come to see these seemingly contradictory layers as different parts of my inner landscape — all trying to protect me, to keep me safe, yet also pushing me to evolve, to learn, to transform. And sometimes, all of that is happening at once, even when it seems impossible.
I often use the metaphor of a canyon to describe my life — with its many layers, each formed by different experiences, influences, and emotions. Sometimes, it doesn't need to make sense. Nowadays, I find myself more at peace with simply holding space for everything that is present, trusting that clarity will come in its own time, like the fog lifting or the smoke from a campfire eventually dissolving into the air.
It’s comforting to know we’re not alone in trying to navigate these complexities. Life truly is more paradoxical than any book, movie, or societal teaching has prepared us for, and that realization itself can be so liberating.
“What finally clicked for me was the realization that life isn't black and white. There is so much nuance in the space between, in the paradoxes.”
So much this 👆
I once wrote that grief is like seeing the full spectrum of gray underneath a rainbow 🌈. Many truths exist simultaneously, and the real work is acceptance although that doesn’t mean we are happy our person died.
I appreciate your wisdom. I hope grievers stumble upon this comment thread and feel less alone too.
Thank you for your kind words. And I am with you on your last sentence.
This is so on point with my experience of grief. Thank you for sharing all of this.
Somedays I welcome grief. Dare I even say, I seek it. Because I know when I succumb to it, something shifts in me. Expands.
Beautiful honest writing, Amy. ❤️🙏🏼
Thank you Allison. Yes, you captured exactly how I feel as well. I love this reflection. Grief is such a different experience from what I thought it would be.
It has surprised me too. ❤️
Thank you for this Amy. Sad songs are comforting, but introspective writing does something else for me. There are so many things that I want to say, but it is as though there is an invisible catch in my throat --or more accurately my brain, preventing me from doing so.
I am only a few days out, but your description of the emptiness of the bedside table resonated with the emptiness of space next to me in bed. I haven't traversed the imaginary line yet, and am not sure that I ever will. The anxiety is what is most bothersome at the moment. It is so damn unpredictable.
Oh Chris, it's only been a few days? I was dissociated from my grief for a long time, I kept myself so busy so I didn't have to face the emptiness. In hindsight, I wish I could have started feeling it sooner, because I only delayed the start of my grieving process.
For better or worse, I've suffered with anxiety and panic attacks since I was 19, so when Steven died I had done years of therapy and already had anti-anxiety meds (not that I think you or anyone else needs meds). I've spoken to many widows/widowers and anxiety is so common, it's one of those things I wish more people talked about.
Grief is very isolating and lonely, even with people who "get it". The anxiety will get better, but you will always miss your partner. I wish I had the right words to say that would make it better just a little bit. I can tell you that you are not alone, even when it feels that way sometimes.