When It Feels Like God Is Silent
Where is God when you're grieving?
“Where is God when you're grieving?”
It's a question almost every widow asks at some point.
Sometimes we don't say it out loud because we're afraid of what it means.
If God feels silent, does that mean I don't have enough faith?
Maybe I haven't prayed enough.
Maybe I haven't read enough Scripture.
Maybe I haven't trusted Him enough.
Maybe if I just did more, He would finally show me what to do.
I've been there.
After Jon died, I went through some very dark valleys when it felt like God wasn't there.
I struggled with depression and anxiety for a long time. During this season, I was reading my Bible. I was praying. I was trying to understand what God was doing and trying desperately to trust Him in the middle of it.
But God seemed silent.
The God I loved and trusted wasn't showing me the way out.
It was the hardest season of my life.
And when you're hurting that deeply, it's easy to turn inward.
Why me?
Why did Jon have to die?
Why am I struggling so much?
When is this going to end?
I was still grieving deeply, and it felt like there was no relief in sight.
And then there was the spiritual guilt.
I felt like I should be trusting God more.
I should be doing better.
I should have more faith.
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Two Steps Forward, One Step Back
Why Grief Feels Like You're Going Backward
Losing my husband has been the most difficult experience of my life.
Just trying to process the reality of it was overwhelming. My mind knew Jon had died, but my heart didn't want to believe it. For a while, I lived in denial and tried to carry on like it hadn't happened.
But it had.
And eventually I had to face it.
As I began trying to figure out what life was going to look like without Jon, I felt like I kept running into a brick wall. We had been married for 11 years, and my life revolved around him, especially after he got sick. Suddenly, all of that was gone, and I felt completely lost.
There would be moments when the grief would ease, and I would start to feel like I was finally moving forward.
Then, out of nowhere, something would trigger it, and I would feel like I was right back to the day he died.
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Moving Forward Isn't the Same as Moving On
Why healing after the loss of a spouse isn't about leaving them behind
Moving on.
It's one of the most common messages widows hear after losing their husbands.
Sometimes it's said outright.
"You need to move on."
Other times it's more subtle.
"It's been a year."
"Don't you think it's time?"
"He would want you to be happy."
The message is the same.
We're expected to grieve for a certain amount of time, and then life is supposed to return to "normal."
Spoiler alert: There will never be the same normal again.
When you've lost your husband, your life changes forever. Nothing about your world is the same. And while life does go on, it never goes back to what it was before.
If we're grieving outside of society's expectations, people often assume we're stuck. That we're dwelling on the past. That we're depressed. That we just need to "get over it."
The truth is, most people simply don't understand grief.
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After 17 Years of Widowhood, Here's What I Know for Sure
Lessons From a Life Rebuilt After Loss
When Jon died, I couldn't imagine what my life would look like seventeen years later.
Honestly, I was just trying to make it through the next day.
The next week.
The next month.
Thinking years into the future felt impossible.
But now, with nearly seventeen years between me and that devastating loss, there are a few things I know for sure.
First, grief changes.
It doesn't disappear.
It doesn't end.
But it changes.
The crushing weight of the early days eventually becomes easier to carry.
The sharp edges soften.
The tears become less frequent.
The love remains.
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The Things That Still Surprise Me About Grief
What 17 Years of Widowhood Has Taught Me
Today it has been 17 years since Jon passed.
Tomorrow would have been our 28th wedding anniversary.
It feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago all at the same time.
I used to think grief would eventually stop surprising me.
I assumed that after enough time had passed, I would know what to expect.
But 17 years later, grief still catches me off guard sometimes.
Not in the overwhelming way it did in the beginning.
But in quieter, more unexpected ways.
The biggest surprise is often how ordinary the moments are.
Sometimes something happens and my first thought is still, "I need to tell Jon about this."
It's usually something small.
A funny story.
A memory that surfaces out of nowhere.
Finding something in his handwriting.
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