For Shar,

 

For Shar, a daughter who passed too soon

We will dance and sing till sundown and feast with abandon

We’ll sleep when the morning comes

Ane we’ll rise to the sound of the bird songs

We’ll be here when e world slows down and the sunbeams fade away

Keeping time with a pendulum, As the Fabric stats to fray

There are  no such times as time to kill, nor time to throw away

So once for the bright sky, and twice for another day,

Come, come along now, run  away from the humdrum

We’ll go to a place that is free from Greed, and boredom

And we’ll break our fast  with friends who

Mourn for me, west of here our story never ends

Author unkown

 

Permission to Laugh, to Live, to Still Be You

Here is the final thing that helps: Give yourself permission to feel good again.

So many grieving partners carry a secret guilt. How dare I laugh? How dare I enjoy a meal? How dare I take a trip without them?

But here is the truth the long-married eventually learn: Loving someone does not end when they die. It just changes rooms. And the person you were with would almost certainly not want you to stop living.

So,  laugh at the silly joke. Eat the dessert. Book the trip you always talked about – even if you go alone.

That is not betrayal. That is carrying their love forward.

Grief in the second half of life is not something you get over. It is something you get through – with honesty, with small rituals, with surprising friends, and with permission to become yourself again.

You are not alone. And you are allowed to take all the time you need.

The People Who Will Surprise You

When you are grieving, some people will disappear. They don’t mean to be cruel. They just don’t know what to do. Let them go.

And then watch for the ones who show up differently.

• The neighbour who leaves soup on your porch without ringing the bell.
• The friend who calls and says, “I’m going for a walk in ten minutes. I’ll be outside if you want to join.”
• The adult child who stops saying “you should” and starts saying “what if we try this together?”

Hold those people close. They are not trying to fix you. They are offering to walk with you. That is the kind of help that actually helps.

And if you are that person for someone else? Just keep showing up. Even when they push you away. Even when they can’t say thank you. Your steadiness is a quiet lifeline.

Who Are You Now?

One of the hardest questions after losing a partner is not “What happened?” It is “Who am I now?”

For decades, your identity was wrapped up in “we.” We go to the market. We visit the grandkids. We argue about the thermostat. Then suddenly it is just “I.” And “I” feels like a stranger.

What helps? Slowly, gently, trying on new versions of yourself. Not replacing your partner. Not forgetting. Just discovering what is still there.

• Go to a movie alone. It will feel strange. That is okay.
• Join a group where no one knows you were part of a couple. A painting class. A walking group. A volunteer shift.
• Ask yourself: What did I enjoy before we became “we”? And try that thing again.

You are not starting over. You are carrying everything you learned from that love into a new chapter. That is not loss. That is inheritance.