Dealing with grief: Widower's perspective

Grief is the loss—or the sudden change—of what once was. It pulls us into a state of pain, and the time it takes to move through that pain is different for everyone.

For me, grief began with understanding what I was actually feeling. Was it the loss of a person? Or the loss of an expected future? A huge part of it was waking up each day without my twin flame beside me. That absence created a panic and sorrow deeper than anything I’ve ever known.

So I started asking myself:

What if I stopped living as if the future is fixed?
Because it never is. Everything is constantly transforming. And one day, we will lose everything—so why are we surprised or shattered when loss comes, if it’s already certain that it will?

I had to shift my entire perspective.
I began to believe that change is always for the better. That every ending is part of a transformation. In Japanese, there’s a philosophy called Kaizen—continuous improvement, always evolving. I started to see this heartbreaking event as a part of that evolution. Even if we had spent 80 years together in this life, saying goodbye would still be painful. But I knew it would have come eventually.

What I’ve learned over these months is that grief never really leaves. It comes and goes in waves, often without warning. But I think it returns to remind me how fragile, beautiful, and fleeting this life is. It’s a wake-up call to live more fully. To love more deeply. To stay grounded in gratitude for the present instead of always chasing a future version of happiness.

Because the future isn’t promised.
What is promised is that one day, we will all leave this body. We will all transform into something else.

When we accept that change is inevitable, we stop resisting. We learn to surf the waves instead of drowning in them. And if we try to deny pain or suppress sadness, life has a way of bringing us right back to the heart—where our truth and purpose live.

Will I ever “accept” this loss? No, I don’t think so.
But now I live with intention. I pour my energy into what gives me hope.
Hope that there’s something beyond this life.
Hope that I’ll get to see her again.
And that hope—no matter how small—is enough to keep me going.

It’s what fuels everything I do now.
And if I can share even a sliver of that hope with someone else, then I know I’m still walking the path I’m meant to.

All you really need is the belief that you’re exactly where you need to be. That everything happens for a reason. That somehow, it all unfolds the way it’s meant to.

And maybe… this has all already happened.
Maybe we’re just here, watching it all unfold like a story written in love.

My perspective has shifted—
It’s now one that feels liberated from fear, even from death itself.
Because I know my Wendyflame has already walked through that doorway before me.

And maybe… maybe I didn’t lose something after all.
Maybe I gained something far deeper:
My true self.

The version of me who is no longer afraid of what might happen.
The one who lives purely, one breath at a time.
Not chained to outcomes, not buried under the weight of uncertainty.

This grief, as painful as it has been, stripped away everything that wasn’t real.
All the noise—the systems, the bills, the daily grind that distracts us from what matters.
From love.
From connection.
From the beating heart of this life.

So if there’s one thing I hold onto from all of this…
It’s the deep gratitude that I get to live again—this time, with my heart fully open.

Another chance.
A second life.
To remember who I really am, and to live from that place every single day from now on.

"Grief begins to heal when we hold on to hope - and find gratitude for what still remains in the present."