There’s a special kind of ache that lives in the quiet moments before a birthday celebration. The kind of ache that smiles in front of the cake but cries while wrapping gifts.
Today, my oldest son celebrates another year of life. AJ is turning the big 13…although I celebrate him with all my heart, we all silently, and sometimes loudly grieve the man who is not here to see it.
This is the tension of widowhood and motherhood: joy and sorrow, side by side.
The Weight Of Celebrating Without Him
It’s only been 2 yrs since he passed away, but ever since, birthdays have felt….different. He was my person to complete the last minute things, made sure nothing slipped my mind so that the day was perfect. My gentle reminder and the calm to my storm.
Now its me…
While I do my best to show up—to prepare, to laugh, to plan out everything—I can still feel the silence of what’s missing. I see it in my son’s eyes when he mentions his dad. I feel it when he makes his silent wish before blowing out his candles, every year, he’ll wish his dad was here to watch him grow.
What Grief Has Taught Me About Joy
I’ve learned that we don’t stop grieving just because its someones birthday. And we don’t stop celebrating because we’re grieving.
Both can exist.
I can feel the pain of his absence and the pride of watching our son grow.
I can laugh while my heart aches.
I can honor my husband’s memory and make new ones with our children.
Its not about pretending everything’s fine. Its about showing up anyway.
For Other Women Like Me
If you’re navigating a birthday, a holiday, a milestone without your spouse—please know: You’re not alone.
You can cry in the car and still show up with cupcakes.
You can feel broken and still be whole enough to celebrate.
You can miss him deeply and still create moments of magic for your child.
Thats not weakness.
Thats love.
Today, I celebrate my son.
And in my heart, I celebrate the man who helped shape him—who loved him fiercely, and who I know is still loving and guiding him from beyond what I can see.
And I celebrate me, too—for doing the hardest things: loving and grieving at the same time.
They say time heals all wounds—but what the kind that shifts your soul forever? This post shares my raw, unfiltered journey through the first year of widowhood. The chaos, the silence, the parenting struggles, the holidays, the moments I broke down in parking lots—and the ones I rose from.
Shock & Survival Mode- This is what autopilot grief looks like. Funeral planning, paperwork, numbness.
The Loniless Hits- When everyone stops checking in, but the pain is still loud. The empty bed and the sleepless nights.
Parenting While Grieving- Showing up for the kids. Smiling through pain. Guilt and grace.
Trigger Season- Anniversaries, birthdays, and “would’ve beens”. Learning to breath through the landmines of grief.
The Quiet Becoming- Slowly rediscovering who I am. Therapy, travel, boxing, journaling. Reclaiming joy without guilt.
If you’re in the middle of your first year, you’re not alone in this. It’s okay to not be okay. And it’s also okay to start again, too.
I didn’t choose this story, but I’m choosing what I do with it now.
The day I became a widow and a solo mom was the day my life split into before and after. For a long time I didn’t think there would be a “next”. But here I am, writing this, and walking proof that healing is possible, even when it feels impossible.
The Raw Reality
I won’t sugarcoat anything in this space or in general. The grief is deep and overwhelming at times, a lot of the time, most of the damn time. The lonliness hits hard, like a boulder to the face. The silence after the kids go to sleep? It’s unbearable at times. But what I’ve learned is this: grief doesn’t shrink, we grow.
Why I Started This Blog
I needed a space to be real. Not just the highlight reel or the brave face I put on everyday. I wanted a space to talk about widowhood, young and old, raising kids while grieving, rebuilding my faith, and finding joy again, without guilt.
What You’ll Find Here
Stories. Tools. Encouragement. A space for other women who are healing, growing, and figuring it out in real time. Whether you’re newly widowed, years in, or supporting someone who is, this blog is for you.
You are not broken. You are rebuilding. And I’m so honored to walk this road with you.