Day 275

It’s been nine months.

My thoughts on Saturday, March 26th:

My stomach hurts.

I want to write some poetic comparison on how it’s the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter and how that is a metaphor for being between BJ’s death and hopefully a life that will be renewed and restored.

I want to say things like

Some good things have been happening. There are some good things that I can see on the horizon. But when I think about them I cannot enjoy them because these good things don’t even compare to what I really want.

I have good things but not the one thing I want– BJ, my marriage, a life and love together, family, children. No travels or grad school or job prospects can satisfy the deep ache of loss I feel.

I’m just aching for my Easter. My Easter is when I’ll be happy again. I’ll be loved again. I’ll feel full and not empty. I’ll have children and not dull aches of a family that could never be.

I also have been feeling like I’m too strong. I’m too adaptable.

I know how to survive, how to make the most of things. And in that I don’t let people in on the ache I feel.

Someone asked me “Do you miss New York?”

I don’t know.

I miss BJ.

I miss having my own apartment. I miss cooking meals and making tea with my own kettle and eggs in my own pan. I miss my artwork, my stuff, my husband’s back rubs.

But do I miss New York?

I don’t know.

I miss walking. I miss reading tons of books because of my subway commutes.

I miss being able to go out for a drink and just taking the subway home because you don’t have to be responsible for a vehicle.

I miss being within walking distance from my friends and church.

But do I miss New York?

I don’t know

Maybe I’m too adaptable. Too strong.

Where ever I go, I try to make the best life I can.

I don’t know where I’ll end up. And I honestly don’t care.

I don’t care if it’s New York or Oregon or Tanzania–

I just want love and family and people who love me and a mission I’m fulfilling for the Kingdom of God.

People I love and who love me, not a place.
A restoration in my life of all that’s been broken, not a specific city or country.

In this tension, I also feel like if I never met another person for the rest of my life I’d be perfectly fine. I mean I love people, but I desire to be known. In the absence of the man who knew me better than any one human on this planet, I have hundreds of people who sorta know me.

So I find myself surrounded by people- at school, at church, in my grief group, friends online, friends abroad, family members, acquaintances, strangers.


And yet I can’t think of 12 people near me who I could invite to a dinner party.

Not that I could HAVE a dinner party. I don’t have my own home. My own space.

I could host one but it wouldn’t be really mine, with the silverware I picked out on our wedding registry, or my mosaic fish platter, or the beautiful wooden salad bowls our friends picked out for us.

And it wouldn’t be in my oven with my spatula.


Seeing pictures of him is really hard. Pictures of us. Of our life.

It’s like looking at pictures of a life I’m not allowed to live.


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  • Elizabeth Rondthaler Jolley

    1. I’d come to a dinner party with you anytime, anywhere, because YOU are the important part of time together, not where you live right now, not the items you are using right now. 2. You should ache for the life that you can’t have with BJ anymore, and all those lost dreams of your future together–that is normal. 3. It takes both time and a readiness that shows to people you meet in order to make those deeper friendships, one of which may eventually become your next deep love. 4. Cherish the photos of you & BJ, but maybe don’t look at them all the time. They will be there. So will your “fan club”. Always here to support you in this journey.