You Cant Prepare for the Emptiness
I never thought Id get divorced twice. After the second one, I was drainednot just emotionally, but physically. I didnt want anyone around. I shut myself off from the world, wore old jeans, stopped shaving, and made a point of looking dishevelledjust so no one would think I was open to meeting someone new. Id convinced myself love was an illness, and I was finally cured.
And then she appeared.
We met by chanceat a mutual friends birthday party. At first, I barely noticed her. She was laughing at someones joke, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and she had this lookalive, attentive, just a little bit sly. When we started talking, I realised she wasnt just another pretty face but someone who saw deeper. She asked questions and actually listened, not just out of politeness.
That evening, we talked until dawn. For the first time in years, I laughedproperly. And that same night, I knew: something inside me had shifted.
From that day on, we were inseparable. A year later, we married. Seventeen yearsevery one of them meant something. She wasnt just my wife; she was my compass, my best friend, my conscience. She could defuse tension with a single quip or hug me in a way that instantly made everything feel calm.
Her name was Eleanor.
She loved lifes little things: morning coffee in the garden, old black-and-white films, the smell of fresh bread shed bake just because. And shed always say, Dont go hunting for happinessjust open your eyes to it.
When the doctors gave us the diagnosis, we sat in silence. She held my hand tight and said, Lets not cry yet, alright? Therell be time for that later if we need to.
Eighteen months of fighting. Chemo, hospitals, weakness, painbut she never gave up. Even when she lost her hair, she joked that at least shed save time on styling. Her strength amazed meand terrified me, because I could only watch as she faded, helpless to stop it.
Three months ago, she was gone.
The world went quiet. Too quiet. Our home stayed exactly as it was: her mug on the table, her favourite blanket on the sofa, a book with a bookmark halfway through. And me, stuck in the middle of it all, like a film someone had paused.
Our son keeps me going. Hes sixteen nowmy anchor. I dont know what Id do without him. Weve grown closer than ever. We talk about hernot as someone gone, but as if shes just somewhere nearby. Hell say, Dad, Mum wouldve loved how you cooked this pasta. And I smile. Because shes the one who taught me, insisting, A real man should know how to make breakfast and how to hug.
When it was clear the end was near, I tried to prepare. I ran scenarios in my head: going to the shops alone, facing the holidays solo, climbing into an empty bed. I thought imagining it all in advance might dull the pain. But no amount of thinking ever gets you ready for the real thing.
Because the hurt doesnt come from the big lossesits the little things.
Every Sunday, wed watch *Antiques Roadshow* together. It was our little ritual. Wed guess the prices, argue, laugh. Now, I still turn it on. I sit on the same sofa. But beside me? Silence. When someone onscreen gasps at a valuation, I still glance over out of habitonly to remember shes not there. And in those moments, the emptiness hits so hard, I could scream.
Im trying to hold it together. I make breakfast, tidy up, take our son to the cinema. Weve even replanted her favourite flowers in the garden. But the hardest part comes every night when I turn off the light. You can hug a pillow all you wantit doesnt smell like love.
Still, despite everything, Im grateful. Because I was lucky enough to know her. Seventeen years by her sidethats more than some get in a lifetime. She left pieces of herself in mein the way I speak, the things I do, in our son.
Sometimes, I swear shes still here. In the rustle of turning pages, the whistle of the kettle, the sunlight streaming through the window just the way she liked it.
I know one day Ill laugh without the ache. But for now, Im just learning to live againnot without her, but *with* her, in memory.
Because love doesnt vanish when the body goes quiet. It just changes shapebecomes a quiet light, guiding you through the dark.
