Rachel Brougham: What I’ve learned from six years of grieving

I remind myself that the anticipation leading up to the day is worse than the actual day. Yet, the body remembers, and there’s no stopping those memories from hitting you like giant waves crashing on the shoreline.

I’m writing this on what is the sixth anniversary of my husband Colin’s death. He died tragically in a cycling accident, just blocks from our house on his way home from work. It was a Tuesday. The sun was bright with clear blue skies, but the air was still cold — one of those spring days in the Midwest when it’s hard to figure out the right layers for outside. I made tacos for dinner — the table was set waiting for his arrival, I placed the cloth napkins with the little bicycles next to our three plates. I had finished work a bit early that day and spent that little bit of free time making him an apple pie.

But our life together was already over. I had no idea that morning would be the last time I’d kiss him goodbye. I never thought that my “be careful” text to him as he left work would be the last.

And that’s the thing about death — it’s sudden and irreversible. And it forever alters the lives around it in ways you never can imagine until it happens to you.

Those who have lost someone close — a spouse or partner, parent, child or friend — know that moving on is just not a thing. Instead, you move forward with all that grief and pain and anger and guilt and your body just never forgets, it just learns to manage it better over time.

There’s no denying the pain I still feel. My body just hurts this week as all those memories rise to the surface. I feel guilt over not saying, “I love you” in the last text. I’m angry this happened to my family. And the grief I feel on any given day can never be predicted.

I hate that I’ll eventually forget memories, as time has already made some a bit fuzzy. I hate that inside jokes we shared together now fall on deaf ears. I hate that Colin is missing out on our son growing up. The milestones are the worst for me — birthdays, starting high school, learning to drive. I can’t think of one thing that’s a positive for my son growing up without his father. I mourn the relationships lost due to Colin’s death. And the idea of having to live through this week every year for the rest of our lives seems almost impossible sometimes.

Yet somehow, out of all this grief and pain I’ve created a life I’m proud of.

I’ve brought people into my life who make me feel loved and rich beyond measure and I have no idea where I’d be without them. I gave up most of my career so I could be there for my son and watching him grow into the kind, empathetic and respectful person he is reinforces that is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

I think about what I’d want people to remember about me after I’m gone and try to live my days with that in mind. While each day is by no means a gift and there’s a longing for the life I once lived, there’s plenty of good in my life each day. And for that I’m thankful.

Always tell your people you love them. Give them that goodbye hug. Make those lunch or coffee or concert dates together. Because one day they just won’t be there anymore.

— Rachel Brougham is the former assistant editor of the Petoskey News-Review. You can email her at racheldbrougham@gmail.com.

This article originally appeared on The Holland Sentinel: Rachel Brougham: What I’ve learned from six years of grieving