Its impossible to prepare for emptiness.
I never thought Id go through a second divorce. After it happened, I was exhaustednot just emotionally, but physically. I didnt want anyone near me. I shut myself away, wore the same old jeans, stopped shaving, made sure I looked roughjust so no one would think I was open to meeting anyone. Love, I decided, was an illness Id finally recovered from.
And then she appeared.
We met by chance at a mutual friends birthday. At first, I barely noticed her. She was laughing at someones joke, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, with this lookalive, attentive, just a little bit wry. When we started talking, I realised she wasnt just a pretty woman, but someone who saw deeper. She asked questions, really listenednot just to be polite.
That night, we talked till dawn. For the first time in years, I laughedproperly. And by the time the sun came up, I knew something inside me had shifted.
We never parted after that. A year later, we married. Seventeen yearsevery one of them mattered. She wasnt just my wifeshe was my compass, my best friend, my conscience. She could defuse tension with a joke, or hug me in a way that instantly made everything feel lighter.
Her name was Evelyn.
She loved the little things: morning coffee in the garden, old black-and-white films, the smell of fresh bakingsomething she did just because. Shed always say, Dont go hunting for happiness. Just open your eyesits already there.
When the doctors gave us the diagnosis, we were both silent. She sat across from me, squeezing my hand, and said:
Lets not cry now, alright? Therell be time for that later, if we need it.
Eighteen months of fighting. Chemotherapy, hospitals, weakness, painbut she never gave in. Even when she lost her hair, she joked about saving time on styling. Her strength amazed meand scared me, because I could only watch as she faded, helpless to do anything.
Three months ago, she was gone.
The world went quiet. Too quiet. Our house stayed exactly as it was: her favourite mug on the table, the blanket she always curled up with on the sofa, a book left open halfway through. And me, stuck in the middle of it all, like someone had pressed pause on a film.
Our son keeps me going. Hes sixteen. My rock. I cant imagine where Id be 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 made this pasta.
And I smile, because shes the one who taught me to cook in the first place. She used to say, A real man knows how to make breakfast and how to hold someone.
When the end was near, I tried to prepare. I ran through scenarios in my headshopping alone, facing holidays alone, climbing into an empty bed. I thought if I pictured it all in advance, it wouldnt hurt as much. But no amount of thinking readies you for the truth.
Because grief doesnt come from the big losses. Its the little things.
Every Sunday, wed watch *Antiques Roadshow* together. Our little ritual. Wed guess the prices, argue, laugh. Now, I still turn it on. I sit in the same spot. But theres only silence beside me. When someone onscreen gasps at a valuation, I still turn, expecting to see her reaction. But she isnt there. And in those moments, the emptiness hits so hard I could scream.
I keep going. I make breakfast, tidy up, take our son to the cinema. We even replanted her favourite flowers in the garden. But the hardest part is every night when I turn off the lights. 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, in our son, in the habits I cant shake.
Sometimes, I think shes still here. In the rustle of book pages, the whistle of the kettle, the sunlight falling through the window just the way she liked it.
I know one day Ill laugh without bitterness. But for now, Im learning to live againnot without her, but with her in my memory.
Because love doesnt disappear when the body falls silent. It just changes shapebecomes a quiet light, guiding you through the dark.
