Some days, the grief of losing my husband seems completely unavoidable—especially on rainy days. It’s as if the grief itself is sewn into the clouds, soaked into the sky’s gray, and whispered in the rhythm of the raindrops as they tap against the roof, the street, and the windows.
It’s raining here today. On rainy days like this one, Scott, the dogs, and I would snuggle up together. We’d listen to the rain’s lullaby, take long naps, and laugh at the funny snores from our new puppy, Oliver. The house would be filled with simple joy—quiet, comforting, and whole.
When Scott passed, I noticed something in Oliver. He would sit at the window, hour after hour, day after day, just staring—waiting—as if expecting Scott to walk back through the door. It was as if he too carried a grief that couldn’t be explained, only felt.
Today, as it rains, Oliver and I find ourselves back at that window. We sit together—me in reflection, him in silence—and through the glass, we share a moment of longing. We miss you, Scott. Deeply, and always.
To those of you in Widow Nation—if you find yourself holding on to memories that may seem ordinary or small, know this: those are the moments where the deepest love lives. A quiet nap. A shared laugh. A window on a rainy day. These are not just memories. They are pieces of our hearts, proof of a love that mattered.
Let the rain fall. Let the memories come. And if all you can do is sit by the window and remember, know that that, too, is love.
With grace and gentleness,
A fellow widow 💛
Widow 101 