Letting Go of the Need to Explain Your Choices to Others
I’ve always had a tendency to overexplain things.
Not because anyone necessarily asked, but because I felt like I needed to justify what I was doing. As if my decisions needed to make sense to everyone around me in order to be valid.
After Jon passed, that feeling got even stronger.
I found myself explaining things that, when I look back now, really didn’t need an explanation at all.
I explained why I was able to stay home with my kids.
I explained how I could afford to add an addition onto our house.
I explained why I stopped wearing my wedding ring after nine months.
I explained why I chose to keep homeschooling instead of putting my kids in school.
I explained why I moved from Maine to New Hampshire.
And later…
I explained when I started dating.
I explained when I got remarried.
No matter what I did, it seemed like there were opinions.
Some people thought I was moving forward too quickly.
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Week 5: Grateful for Love—Then and Now
This part of my story holds both deep sorrow and unexpected joy.
I will always be grateful for the godly man I was privileged to call my husband. He was strong, faithful, and deeply committed to our family. He prayed over us, led us with wisdom, and lived his life in a way that quietly impacted so many. His love shaped me. His example pointed others to Christ. I miss him every day.
Even now, years later, I still feel his absence. I still tear up when I hear certain songs or see our children do something he would have been proud of. And yet, woven into that grief is gratitude. Deep, steady, sacred gratitude—for the years we had, the memories we made, and the way God used him to leave a lasting legacy.
And then… God surprised me.
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Yesterday marked 16 years since Jon passed away.
Today would have been our 27th wedding anniversary.
And even now—after all this time—we still miss him. The ache of loss doesn’t vanish. It softens and shifts over time, but it never quite disappears. Especially not during weeks like this.
This week is always difficult. Grief is strange like that—sometimes it’s predictable, and sometimes it catches you off guard in the middle of an ordinary moment. An old photo. A song. A memory. Or just the quiet absence of someone who once filled every part of your life.
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For a long time, I believed I had to choose.
Grief or gratitude.
Brokenness or healing.
Fear or faith.
Love for my late husband or love for someone new.
But God has gently taught me something so powerful—it’s not always either/or. Sometimes, it’s both/and.
There is such freedom in the word AND.
I can grieve AND be grateful.
I can miss what was AND embrace what is.
I can love the life I had AND the life I have now.
I can walk in faith AND still feel fear.
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I can’t tell you exactly how it all occurred, or when we became interested in each other, but we did. I knew Heath from church. We were both involved in the music at church, so we would see each other pretty regularly at rehearsals. We would talk at rehearsal and at church on Sunday mornings and once in a while we would chat on social media. The more we talked, the more I liked him.
And then it happened.
On Valentine’s Day, 2016, Heath asked me for my phone number. He called me a couple days later and asked me out on a date. My first date since Jon had passed. My stomach did flip flops, but of course I said yes!
I was feeling ALL the feelings. Excited, nervous, unsure, happy...it was overwhelming. I tried not to get too far ahead of myself, but I wondered what God was up to. When I told my kids that I had a date, Jillian said, “Is Mr. Bailey going to be our new Dad?” I explained to her that it didn’t quite work that way - it takes time and many dates before deciding on a big commitment like that.
