Grief, Grace and Growing

Sept 2, 2026

Dear Rob,

I have said this before, and I will probably say it forever:

I never thought I would lose you at 44.

This was not our plan.

This was not what we promised each other.

And you know how much I love a plan. My schedules. My routines. My structure. I like knowing what comes next.

I never planned for this.

It’s been a year and three months since you died, and sometimes I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that this is my life now.

Before you died, I was your wife.

Your honey. Your sweetie. Your lady.

Before that, I was your high school sweetheart.

We built a life together. We raised three kids. We worked. We came home. We ate dinner. We cleaned up. We watched TV with the kids. We talked about our day.

Sometimes you went downstairs to play video games while I got things ready for the next day.

It was ordinary.

It was routine.

It was our life.

And I loved it.

I loved being your wife.

I loved being a mom and having a strong partner like you. 

I loved being part of our little family.

I never imagined I would have to learn how to be all of it without you.

Now I’m the mom and the dad.

The provider.

The scheduler.

The homework checker.

The one who remembers the appointments, the practices, the meals, the laundry, the yard, the bills, the school stuff, the sports stuff.

The one who has to figure it out when something goes wrong.

And honestly?

Sometimes I’m scared shitless.

I was talking to a coworker recently, and she said, “I don’t know how you do it. Three kids. You are amazing.”

I laughed and told her the truth.

“I don’t know how I do it either.”

I do it with anxiety.

I do it with fear.

I constantly wonder:

Am I doing enough for the kids?

Am I missing something?

How do I make one income work?

How do I keep up with everything?

How do I take care of this house when I hate yardwork and you always did it?

This was supposed to be our forever home.

Our life.

Our responsibility to share.

Instead, I’m learning how to carry it alone.

Today I worked from home.

And I actually loved it.

I caught up on emails. Scheduled my staff’s quarterly reviews. Finished procedures I haven’t had time to write. Made myself lunch and ate it quietly.

But the best part?

When the kids came home, I was already here.

I could hear about their day.

I could be present.

On the days I’m not working from home, I come home and we’re immediately running off to fall ball or soccer.

Tonight, thankfully, there was no soccer.

No rushing.

No figuring out how to get two kids to two different places.

So I made a Let’s Dish meal.

Did two loads of laundry.

Cleaned the living room.

Helped Viv with her homework.

Signed her planner.

Just normal things.

Things that don’t sound hard when you list them.

But they are different when you’re doing them alone.

After 20-plus years of having a life with you, I’m still learning this new routine.

And I hate that I have to.

You loved routine.

You loved structure.

You loved knowing that after a hard day, you came home to us.

I understand that now more than ever.

Because after a hard day, I come home too.

But you’re not here.

And sometimes I don’t know who I’m supposed to call when I don’t know what to do.

You’re supposed to be the person who helps me figure it out.

You were my person.

The one person I thought could get me through anything.

And now I’m learning how to get through everything without you.

A new job.

A new role as a single mom.

Parenting alone.

Managing this house.

Managing finances.

Managing three kids.

Managing my own life while grieving the life I lost.

I’m learning all of it over again.

And some days I feel strong.

Some days I feel proud of myself.

And some days I sit in the quiet and wonder how the hell this became my life.

Because I didn’t choose this chapter.

I didn’t want this chapter.

I wanted the life we planned.

I wanted to grow old with you.

I wanted our routines to become boring.

I wanted to complain about the yardwork while you took care of it.

I wanted to come home after a hard day and tell you everything.

I wanted you beside me when life got hard.

Instead, I’m learning how to be everything.

And I’m doing it.

I’m showing up.

I’m raising our babies.

I’m working.

I’m keeping this house running.

I’m figuring things out.

But Rob…

I wish I didn’t have to be this strong.

I wish I didn’t have to learn how to do this alone.

I wish you were here to help me.

Because even after a year and three months, I still find myself looking for you in the middle of this life.

And every time I remember you’re not coming back,

it hurts all over again.

I miss you.

And I miss the life I never thought I’d have to learn how to live without you.

Jeaney