Hello, my name is Aidan, and I am a widower. 15 years ago, I lost my wife to cancer after nearly 26 years of marriage. The following is an account of what I had written many years ago, an account of what I was experiencing back then, so please bear that in mind whilst reading this.
When I was asked to write about *dealing with the memory of a deceased spouse*, it made me reflect on my own journey. Am I truly “dealing” with it? Truthfully, I think many days, I don’t cope as well as I would like to. Outwardly, I manage life’s daily tasks, and I appear to be getting along just fine. But just beneath the surface, the emotions—the love, the memories—are always there, lingering.
All it takes is a reminder—a familiar face, a shared memory—and my her picture appears in my mind and my heart. It could be something as simple as passing a place we visited, hearing a song we both loved, or seeing someone she used to work with. These triggers bring the memories flooding back. And with those memories come deep feelings of loss, loneliness, and emptiness.
These moments of grief can be overwhelming. They are painful, disorienting, and sometimes feel unbearable. I’ve come to realize that whilst I’m trying to cope, there are times when I simply can’t escape these emotions. They come uninvited, like when I’m walking down the street, and they linger, leaving me feeling unsettled.
I often ask myself, *Am I holding onto her memory too tightly?* I know she has passed. I know she’s no longer physically here with me. And yet, her memory remains so present in my heart. Letting go—what does that even mean? I wonder if I even have the tools to let go. And if I did, would I want to?
“Letting go” is such a personal experience. For some, it means releasing the pain of the past. For others, it means learning to live with the memories without being overwhelmed by them. I’m still figuring out what it means for me. I understand logically that she’s gone. But emotionally, it feels like the connection remains, and that connection sometimes brings torment—an intense pain that feels irrational yet very real.
I’m not intentionally trying to make myself feel bad. I don’t dwell in self-pity. Yet, I sometimes find myself wondering, *Why do I allow myself to feel this way?* What is it about grief that pulls me back into the pain, again and again?
At the same time, I know that these feelings are mine. I own them. They’re not solid things I can hold, but they exist inside me. And in my own way, I’m learning to cope with them.
Everyone’s experience of loss is unique. We each find our own path through grief. For me, my family have been a tremendous source of support. I’m also grateful for my friends in the bereavement group to which I belonged. Many of them have walked this path too, and their shared experiences help me feel less alone in my grief.
Also, despite what other people may think of me or opinions they have of of me, that's really none of my business. That's all of their business, none of mine. Live your own life and be happy.
Writing has become one of the ways I cope. Putting my feelings into words allows me to release some of the emotional pressure. It’s like opening the valve on an overfilled pressure cooker—it lets out just enough so that I can breathe a little easier. Writing helps me express the hurt, anger, and sorrow that often build up inside me. It reminds me that my feelings are valid, that they’re a part of this process.
I know that my work in hypnotherapy was/is a tremendous source of healing and a means of accessing and easing the pain and the loss. You have within you, that capacity and that avenue is open to you.
I know writing isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay. We each have our own way of working through our grief, of easing the pain. Some find solace in talking, others in creating, and many in quiet reflection. Whatever method helps you, I hope it brings you comfort and peace, even if just for a moment.
I wish for each of you the strength and support you need as you navigate your own journey. Though we each walk this path in our own way, we’re not alone. With the love of those around us and the support of those who understand, we can find a way forward—one step at a time. Together, we can learn to live again, while still holding our loved ones close in our hearts.
