07/17/2026
In early loss, talking about Alex's death was both encouraged and unbearable. I couldn't speak of him in past tense. My brain wouldn't compute it. Maybe it was denial, maybe survival. But people listened anyway. Because if I stopped talking about him, something would be wrong, right?
Fast forward to year six. This October marks seven years since Alex died.
I talk about him less now to others, but don't be fooled, I still think about him and talk to him every single day. The difference? The people who used to lean in when I mentioned him are becoming less present in my world.
In the beginning, I'd get signs constantly. His badge number (370) on a deli ticket. A dime. Anything reminiscent of him felt sacred. Now when I bring him up, I can't help but feel like I'm casually mentioning the weather. Something mundane, not worth reciprocating.
Maybe that's why I created a space to talk about Alex alongside others who grieve their spouses.
In my widow and widower groups, we get to talk about our deceased loved ones at any capacity. No awkwardness. No "Oh, you're still grieving?" No judgment about whether we should have "moved on by now."
That said, there are still people in my world who witness my grief today. Family. Friends. My boyfriend. I'm grateful for those of you who still let me keep the memories alive in his absence.
If you've read this far, thank you.
And here's my PSA: When you lose someone you love, there's a damn good chance you'll want to keep talking not just to them, but about them.
๐