Valentine’s Day is tomorrow. And if you’re grieving, it can feel like a slap in the face. The cards. The chocolate. The flowers. Romantic movies. Couples celebrating each other. Everywhere you look, you are reminded of love, and the person you no longer have beside you. He’s not there to take you to dinner or give you flowers. She’s not handing you a card with a silly inside joke, just for you.
It’s hard to be reminded of what we’ve lost.
It’s painful to no longer receive the love that once felt so steady and secure.
You still love them deeply, but that love is no longer expressed in the same way.
This was so hard for me. I deeply loved Jon, and I missed him terribly. He was so good at telling me what he loved and valued about me on a regular basis, not just Valentine’s Day. He’d write me notes or call me from work and speak words of affirmation that strengthened my heart. Then suddenly, those words were gone.
Read more...Part 3: Finding Healing When You Finally Let Yourself Grieve
When I finally allowed myself to face my grief, it was both heartbreaking and healing. For years, I had held everything together—staying strong for my children, showing up for responsibilities, convincing myself that moving forward meant not looking back. But eventually, I reached a point where I could no longer hold it all in.
When the floodgates opened, they opened wide.
There were tears—many of them. There were counseling sessions, long walks, quiet mornings, and late nights spent praying through questions I didn’t have answers to. It wasn’t tidy or quick, and it certainly wasn’t easy. But for the first time in a long time, I could breathe.
I didn’t have to pretend anymore.
In that season, I began to understand something important: grieving doesn’t mean you’ve failed to move forward. It means you’re allowing God to heal what’s been wounded. I started to see how tightly I had been holding on—to control, to expectations, to what I thought my life should look like. And slowly, God invited me to loosen my grip.
Part 2: When Grief Shows Up in Unexpected Ways
When Jon died, I truly believed I was handling things well. I stayed busy—teaching piano, homeschooling the kids, staying involved at church. I cried occasionally, but I didn’t allow myself to really feel. I told myself I was being strong, doing what needed to be done, moving forward the way I thought I was supposed to.
At the time, it felt like survival.
What I didn’t realize was that grief doesn’t stay buried forever. When it isn’t given space in our hearts, it often finds expression through our bodies.
For me, it began as anxiety. Fear crept into places it had never been before. A simple sneeze from one of my children could send my heart racing. A smoke detector chirping in the middle of the night left me wide awake and panicked. Late-night phone calls filled me with dread, my mind immediately jumping to the worst possible outcome.
Depression followed close behind. I withdrew—not because I wanted to, but because I was exhausted. Emotionally. Mentally. Physically. My body felt like it was constantly on high alert, stuck in fight-or-flight mode, and I didn’t know how to turn it off.
Part 1: When You Feel Like You Don’t Have Time to Grieve
“I don’t have time to grieve.”
Those were the words that kept running through my mind after Jon passed. Overnight, my life changed in ways I never could have imagined. I became a widow, a single mom, and the sole person responsible for holding our world together—all at once. There were children to homeschool, piano lessons to teach, bills to pay, and decisions to make. Life didn’t slow down just because my heart had shattered.
Adding grief into that already overwhelming mix felt impossible.
Grief is uncomfortable.
Grief is heavy.
Grief takes time—whether we make space for it or not.
Grief is heavy.
Grief takes time—whether we make space for it or not.
So I did what I thought I had to do. I stayed busy. I kept moving. I told myself I would deal with the pain later—when things settled down, when the kids were older, when life felt more manageable. Feeling the full weight of his absence felt like it would crush me, and I wasn’t sure I would survive that.
And If Not… He Is Still Good
A friend shared this recently: “And if not, He is still good” (Daniel 3:18).
I can’t tell you how much it resonated. Sometimes God answers our prayers differently than we hope—or not in the way we want at all. And yet, even when His answer doesn’t match our expectations, He is still good.
I know this truth deeply, not just in theory, but in life. Sixteen years ago, I became a widow while raising two young children. In one moment, my life as I knew it disappeared. Plans, dreams, identity, routines—all gone. I found myself asking the same questions I imagine many of you have: Why? Why now? Why like this?
And yet, even in that heart-wrenching season, I began to see glimpses of God’s goodness. I didn’t see them right away, and it took me a long time to choose to see His goodness. He gave me strength I didn’t know I had, kindness from friends and family I hadn’t expected, and a sense of peace that could only come from Him. I began learning that His goodness isn’t dependent on circumstances.
God is still good, even when a diagnosis is frightening.
God is still good, even when you lose a job you loved.
God is still good, even when a dream you’ve worked toward is lost.
God is still good, even when a loved one dies.
God is still good, even when you lose a job you loved.
God is still good, even when a dream you’ve worked toward is lost.
God is still good, even when a loved one dies.
