Five Years
Later

Outwardly, life kept moving.
Internally, grief did what grief does.

Five years. Still here. Still missing you.

Five years is not a finish line

A whole stretch of life lived as me instead of we.

Five years is long enough to prove that this really is permanent. I have changed. My life has changed. I can be surrounded by people and still feel completely alone because the one person who made it feel like home is missing.

There are things widows rarely say out loud: the guilt when we laugh, the fear of forgetting a voice or a touch, and the physical loneliness of having nobody to hold—or be held by. We can feel almost okay, then get flattened by something ordinary.

And underneath it all is the question: Who am I now?

Every decision, bill, repair, and plan belongs to me. People may expect me to “move on,” date again, or build a shiny new life. But there is no correct replacement for we. Five years later, I am still figuring out what the second half of my life can be—and how to carry him into it without disappearing myself.

Spoon theory and grief infographic explaining how grief reduces the energy available for everyday tasks — Some days, grief uses the spoons before I even get out of bed.

Lois Tonkin grief model showing that grief does not shrink; life grows around it — **The Lois Tonkin model of grief**Grief does not get smaller. Life grows around it.

More evidence

Still Dancing

Anne performing a dance dip while dressed as characters from The Mask — No explanation would help.

Anne dancing to Dancing Through Life from Wicked — *Dancing Through Life*—less a philosophy, more a refusal to sit down.

Anne dancing in a flowing blue princess gown to As the World Falls Down — *As the World Falls Down*—because apparently grief wasn’t enough drama, I added chiffon.

Anne performing a dip during a Van Halen dance — Van Halen—and yes, I did the dip.

Anne standing in a garden with Cheshire Cat figures, five years later — Still standing. With backup.

Anne sitting beside Marlon’s favorite things while wearing a pendant holding some of his ashes — His ashes are in the pendant. He’s resting between two of his favorite spots.

Anne standing on a Florida beach at sunset two years after Marlon died — Two years after, in Florida.

Anne five years later with her best friend peeking over her shoulder — Still here—with my creepy best friend lurking over my shoulder.

Anne dressed for Christmas with the Grinch peeking over her shoulder — Still here. Still festive. Still being stalked by the Grinch.

Anne standing beside an axe-throwing target — Getting out my frustrations over losing you—one axe at a time.

Anne and her friend Praise posing with Beetlejuice — I dragged Praise into the Beetlejuice life. No regrets.

Anne relaxing on a red couch while celebrating her 55th birthday — 55th Birthday

Anne in the car beside a skeleton with bright pink hair, captioned Finally someone to split gas with

Five YearsLater

Five years. Still here. Still missing you.

A whole stretch of life lived as me instead of we.

Still Dancing

Five Years
Later