Healing Is a Must

The morning sunlight comes through the glass windows of my living room, filling the space with a familiar warmth, while the quiet sounds of the world outside drift into the house. I'm sitting on the couch with my coffee, looking at the photographs of Craig that have been sitting on the shelves for years, each one holding a memory of a life that sometimes feels like yesterday and other times feels so far away.

There are pictures of us together, pictures of him with the kids, and photographs from ordinary moments that we probably never imagined would become so precious. I find myself looking at his smile and wondering what he would think of the kids today, how proud he would be of the people they're becoming, and what he might say about all the things that have happened since he's been gone.

It's been years since we lost Craig, and while life has continued in so many wonderful and unexpected ways, there are still moments when I wish I could turn around and tell him something, share a funny story, or simply hear his opinion about something that has been on my mind.

As I sit there, I pick up my phone and open LinkedIn, scrolling through the usual updates about new opportunities, professional achievements, and people celebrating their latest accomplishments. But lately, I've noticed something else appearing more often among the familiar faces in my feed. Those little green banners around profile pictures that say "Open to Work."

Some belong to people I've worked with, while others are complete strangers sharing stories about losing jobs after ten, fifteen, or even twenty years with the same company.

Many of their posts are filled with gratitude and optimism about the next chapter, but I find myself wondering what happens after they close their laptops, when the encouraging comments stop coming and they're left alone with the reality of everything that has changed.

Because losing a job, especially one that has been part of someone's identity for years, can mean losing much more than a paycheck. There are relationships, routines, a sense of belonging, and perhaps even a future they had imagined for themselves, all suddenly becoming part of the past.

After spending a little time on LinkedIn, I switch over to Facebook, where the stories are different, but the emotions behind them sometimes feel surprisingly familiar. Instead of career updates, I see family photographs, birthdays, graduations, and celebrations, mixed with stories of friends navigating divorce, difficult medical diagnoses, or the loss of someone they love.

It's interesting how these two platforms show us different parts of people's lives, yet both remind me how much is happening beneath the surface. Some people are celebrating new beginnings, while others are quietly trying to make sense of endings they never expected, and many are probably experiencing a little of both.

I know losing a job isn't the same as losing someone you love, and not every loss carries the same weight, but I wonder whether there is something familiar about having to adjust to a life that looks nothing like the one you imagined. Thinking about that brings me back to my own life after losing Craig, when there were two children who needed their mom, medical appointments to manage, work commitments to meet, and countless everyday responsibilities that couldn't wait, even when the world I had known had changed completely.

In many ways, those responsibilities gave me purpose and helped me keep going, but looking back, I sometimes wonder how much of my strength came from actually feeling strong and how much came from simply knowing that I didn't have another choice.

For a long time, I thought healing meant eventually reaching a point where something no longer hurt, where life somehow returned to normal, and the sadness became a distant memory. But the longer I live, the more I question whether returning to normal is even possible after certain experiences, because some things change us in ways that become part of who we are.

I still miss Craig, and I imagine I always will, but I've also experienced happiness, discovered new things about myself, and created wonderful memories with the kids, all while continuing to carry the love and sadness associated with losing him. And somewhere along the way, I began to realize something that has stayed with me.

While I was missing the life I once had, there was still a life unfolding right in front of me, with two children growing up, people who loved me, friendships worth nurturing, and moments that would one day become memories of their own. I couldn't change what had happened to Craig, no matter how much I wished things had been different, but I could still be part of the lives of the people who were here, and I didn't want my sadness to keep me from fully experiencing those moments with them.

That realization didn't make the grief disappear, and it certainly didn't mean that I loved Craig any less, but it changed the way I thought about healing. Perhaps healing wasn't about leaving the past behind, but about making enough room in my heart for the people, experiences, and possibilities that were still part of my life.

When I think about those people on LinkedIn or the personal stories shared on Facebook, I wonder how many are carrying something similar, holding on to a career, a relationship, a dream, or a version of life that no longer exists, while trying to figure out how to embrace what comes next.

I understand how difficult that can be, because sometimes the familiar pain of what we've lost feels easier to hold on to than the uncertainty of what lies ahead, and sometimes moving forward can almost feel like we're letting go of something that once meant everything to us.

But I've come to believe that we don't have to stop loving, remembering, or appreciating what we've lost in order to make room for what remains.

Life doesn't stop for us to heal, but that doesn't mean healing should have to wait.

As I put my phone down and look back at Craig's photographs, I find myself smiling at one of his pictures, remembering something about him that still makes me laugh. He's still part of my life in so many ways, and I know there will always be moments when I wish he were sitting beside me, sharing a cup of coffee and talking about the kids.

But I also think about how much I would have missed if I'd spent all these years looking only at what was no longer there, instead of allowing myself to see the wonderful people and experiences that were still around me.

I don't know whether healing is something we ever truly finish, or whether it's simply something that continues to happen as we live, grow, and find our way through the unexpected changes life brings. What I do know is that the people we love, the relationships we cherish, and the moments we have together are far too precious to take for granted, especially when life has already taught us how quickly things can change.

Healing is a must, not because we need to forget what we've lost, but because there's still so much love around us and so much life ahead of us worth living.