The Empty Side of the Bed

Author: theemptysideofthebed

  • Grief is Messy

    One thing I’ve learned through this journey is that grief is messy! No matter the circumstances surrounding your grief or how put together your life is. It’s going to be messy.

    Grief has it’s own timeline and rhythm that doesn’t go along with our neat little lives. If you’re anything like me, you had your life all planned out. At this point, you may have even recalculated and readjusted and have it all planned out again. But grief…..

    You see, it doesn’t work that way. You have a plan, a timeline, things to do but grief smacks you in the face. You think you’re doing just fine and BAM! I can’t even count the number of times this has happened to me. I’m going along just fine and then out of nowhere the strangest thing will knock me off the horse.

    I’m learning that there are no stages to grief. Okay, there may be “stages” that people can go through or experience but they don’t happen in any order or at any certain time. You may even experience the same stage over and over again. No matter what anyone ever tells you. Even if someone had the exact same scenario as you. It won’t be the same.

    What do we do about this? We choose to live in it. We trust that God is in control because He is. No matter how much we want that control. It’s not ours. He is good and he’s trustworthy. We trust the wild unknown that we are facing and we do the best we can everyday. We help each other along the way too. That’s all we can do.

  • 6 Months…

    6 Months…Half a year…

    That’s how long we’ve lived without you…

    Half a year since everything changed.

    I can’t believe it’s been 6 months since I last heard your voice or felt your arms around me.

    I miss you in all the little ways – our routines, the laughter, your dad jokes, the way you called me “beautiful” every single morning. Your presence beside me in the small, ordinary moments.

    The world keeps moving, but a part of me is still standing in that moment I lost you.

    These past 6 months have been full of trying to figure out how to keep going – for me, for our son, for the life you would want us to live. Some days are harder than others, but God’s grace and love have met us in every one of them.

    I’ve learned that love doesn’t end when someone is gone; it just changes shape. It become memory, strength, and faith – the reminder that we’ll see you again one day.

    We talk about you all the time. Our son is growing, learning, and carrying so much of you with him – your strength, your humor, your heart. I know you’re watching over him, proud of the young man he’s becoming.

    We both miss you more than words can say.

    We’re still finding our way, leaning on God and holding onto your love and all the pieces of you that live on in us.

    I hope you know how deeply you’re missed and how fiercely you’re loved. đź’”

  • The Cemetery

    I’ve struggled a lot with feeling the need to go to the cemetery to “talk” to him or to feel close to him again. I know that his body is there and that’s where we laid him to rest but I also know that he isn’t there any longer. I know that he is in heaven with God. I hate feeling like I need to memorialize this “place” where we laid him to rest. This doesn’t feel biblical to me but I do like having a place where I can go to talk to him. It’s a place that I can place flowers and take care of since he is no longer here. There’s something helpful about having this place and these tasks to do that I find rewarding and comforting. While it may not be appropriate for some, I will keep doing it at this time as I do feel like it’s helping me in my grieving process.

  • The Moment that Completely Changed My Life

    Looking back, I don’t even know how we got to this moment. It all happened so fast. My husband had been sick for about four weeks and spent almost two of those weeks hospitalized. He had just come home on Friday and was feeling better. Then came Monday morning. I woke to him coughing around 4:30 a.m. I rushed to the bathroom to see what I could do and helped him back to bed. He was having difficulty breathing and wanted his inhaler. I retrieved it for him and realized right away that it wasn’t helping. We called the paramedics because something was seriously wrong.

    The fire department showed up first, but they didn’t have any equipment and couldn’t do much. We live in a small town and know these men, so it felt comforting. Next, the paramedics finally showed up, and it felt like hours before they got oxygen to him. That’s an exaggeration, of course, but you know how time feels in moments like that. He started to calm down and get some relief, so they needed him to get up and onto the gurney. In the process, he went unconscious. They rushed to get him into the ambulance while we looked on in fear. One of the firefighters finally came over to let me know that he had a pulse, but he wasn’t breathing on his own.

    My son and I followed the ambulance to the hospital, and about halfway there, I noticed they had started doing compressions. That image will forever be ingrained in my mind. At that point, I knew it wasn’t going to be good.

    We finally arrived at the hospital and immediately checked in. They wouldn’t give us any information. I paced the hall, praying repeatedly for God to do something—anything. I knew He was ultimately in control, and I needed Him to do something big in that moment. A nurse came out and let us know the doctor would speak with us in a few moments. That, to me, was another sign that things weren’t good.

    They finally took us into a private room and told us they had done everything they could, but they couldn’t save him. How could this be? A flood of thoughts ran through my mind. We were supposed to grow old together. How do I do life without him? He was only 43. Our son is only 14. How is he supposed to go through high school and life without his dad?

    That was the moment that completely changed my life…

  • About This Blog: “The Empty Side of the Bed”

    The Empty Side of the Bed is a space born from loss, love, and longing. It’s my attempt to put words to the silence that followed after my partner passed away. The title speaks to the physical and emotional emptiness I face each day — the quiet moments, the memories, the rituals we once shared, and the life I now navigate alone with my teenage son.

    This blog is not just about mourning; it’s about remembering. It’s about holding space for grief in all its forms — from the ache of loneliness to the bittersweet joy of remembering the love that was. I write not only for myself but also for anyone walking this painful, often isolating path. Here, you’ll find reflections on love, loss, healing, and everything in between — the raw and the real.

    Grief changes us, but it also connects us. I hope that in sharing my journey, others might feel a little less alone on theirs.