5 Anniversaries Without You

I saw a post on Facebook the other day from someone celebrating 19 years of marriage. My first thought was, Wow. That's a long time. And then it hit me. We would have been celebrating 19 years this year, too.

It's funny how grief math sneaks up on you like that. This year will be my fifth wedding anniversary without James. And anniversaries are one of those times when I start to get a little weird. My mind wanders off into the life that could have been.

The Life We Were Supposed to Have

If James were still here, Braxton and I would be living an entirely different life. We would be the family we worked so hard to become. That's probably the part my mind gets stuck on the most. We finally got there.

After everything it took to become a family, Braxton's adoption was finalized just days before James died. We had spent so much time working toward the life we wanted, and then almost as soon as we officially had it, everything changed.

Instead, I got yeeted into an entirely different reality. And here's the strange part: It's not necessarily a bad reality.

I've built a life here. I've learned how to carry responsibilities I never expected to carry alone. I've figured things out. I've made mistakes. I've fixed things. I've screwed other things up. I've laughed. I've had fun. I've raised our son. I've become a person I don't think either of us could have imagined back then.

I buckled up and took responsibility for the life sitting in front of me. But it wasn't the plan. Then again, is anything ever really in the plan? lol

Five Years of Becoming Someone Else

I'm writing this sitting in the gym lounge, waiting for the massage chair. Which somehow feels like the perfect place to contemplate the alternate realities of my existence.

There was a version of me who couldn't have imagined this woman. She goes to the gym. She raises our son. She makes all the decisions. She takes care of the house. She starts projects she probably shouldn't. She fixes things. She figures shit out because there isn't really another option. She has routines and opinions and stories and an entire life that James has never seen.

That's one of the strangest things about losing your spouse: Eventually, you become someone they never knew.

Not because you stopped loving them. Not because you wanted to leave that version of yourself behind. Time just keeps moving, and apparently it takes you with it whether you signed the permission slip or not.

Sometimes I wonder what James would think of me now. He'd recognize some things immediately. There are probably things that would make him say, What the hell are you doing? And there are entire pieces of my life he'd need me to sit down and explain. Sometimes that realization still knocks the wind out of me.

I Don't Hate This Life

That's important. Because when people talk about life after losing a spouse, I think there's sometimes this assumption that there are only two possible endings. You're devastated forever. Or you "move on."

Real life is much stranger than that. I like parts of this life. Sometimes I even love it. I've experienced things I never would have experienced otherwise. I've learned things about myself I never would have needed to learn. I've become fiercely independent. I've built a life that belongs to me. There is joy here. There is laughter here. There are people I love here.

There are ordinary mornings and ridiculous side quests and things I'm still excited to see.

This is a life worth living.

But if someone offered me the chance to go back? I'd go. Hell, I'd probably start running. I'd give almost anything to go back to being James's wife and never know this version of the world existed at all. And I don't think those two things contradict each other.

The Life You Never Wanted Becomes Your Life

Maybe that's one of the stranger parts of grief that nobody really prepares you for. Eventually, the life you never wanted becomes your regular life. You learn the roads. You unpack your things. You figure out where everything goes. You learn how to function there. Eventually, you may even become happy there.

And then something completely ordinary happens. You see a Facebook post. You hear a song. You find an old picture. An anniversary shows up on the calendar. And suddenly you're standing at the window looking into another life. The one you thought you'd be living.

That's what wedding anniversaries after losing your spouse feel like for me now. They're not necessarily days when I fall completely apart. They're more like little doorways. For a while, I let myself wonder. What would our house look like now? What would we be worried about? What stupid thing would we be arguing about? What would James think about the person Braxton is becoming? What would we be doing for our anniversary? Would 19 years have felt like a long time to us? Or would it have felt like it went by in five minutes? I'll never know.

And maybe that's what hurts most about the life that could have been. There isn't an ending. It just keeps existing somewhere in your imagination.

19 Years

Five anniversaries without you. Nineteen years since we got married. Those numbers don't seem like they should belong to the same story. But somehow they do. I don't spend every day wishing for the life we were supposed to have anymore. I live here now. I've made a home here.

I've found happiness here. I've learned that accepting the life you have doesn't mean you have to stop loving the life you lost. Both can be true.

I can love the life I've built and still wish I never had to build it without you.

So, on our anniversary, I'll probably let myself get a little weird. I'll visit that other life for a while. The one where you're still here. The one where I'm still your wife. The one where 19 years doesn't sound like a long time at all. And then I'll come back to this one. 🖤