I never thought I'd miss going to bed at nine o'clock on a Friday night.
But here I am.
Paul and I used to spend the entire week looking forward to Friday.
Not because we had reservations somewhere fancy or an exciting adventure planned.
Quite the opposite.
We couldn't wait to get home, put our feet up, and do absolutely nothing.
And without fail, we'd both be sound asleep before nine o'clock.
We used to laugh about it.
Five days of looking forward to the weekend, only to come home and go straight to bed.
And we loved it.
We didn't need to be anywhere or entertain anyone. We were just happy to be home together.
I'd give anything for one more of those boring Friday nights.
It's funny how the moments you barely thought about become the ones you'd do anything to have back.
I had a plan, you see.
It wasn't some grand, perfectly organized, color-coded plan. Anyone who knows me knows that would be a stretch.
But I was going to grow old with my husband.
We were going to raise our boys, survive the teenage years, complain about how much everything cost, and eventually find ourselves sitting somewhere with a cuppa and Corona Premier, wondering how the years had gone so quickly.
We were supposed to get old and annoy each other.
That was the plan.
And then cancer came along and decided it had other ideas.
One day, I was a wife sharing a life with her husband.
And then I was a widow trying to figure out how to live without him.
I didn't lose just my husband. I lost the life we were supposed to have.
The Things That Never Happened
People understand that you miss someone when they die.
What they don't always understand is that you also grieve the moments that will never happen.
The grandchildren Paul might never meet.
The graduations, weddings, and celebrations where his absence will be impossible to ignore.
The little things we assumed we'd have time for.
I'm learning how to be someone I never expected to become.
And some days, I don't particularly like that.
Independent, Whether I Like It or Not
I've always been independent.
If something needed organizing, I organized it. If there was a problem, I figured it out.
But there's a difference between being independent because you want to be and being independent because you have no other choice.
I didn't want to be the only person making every decision or the only parent lying awake worrying.
People tell me how amazing it is that I keep going.
And I appreciate that.
But sometimes I want to say:
What exactly was the alternative?
The bills still arrive.
The boys still need me.
The clothes still need to be washed.
The house still needs to be cleaned.
And apparently nobody informed the electricity company that my husband died and I might need a little time to get myself together.
Life carries on, even when you desperately wish it would stop for five minutes.
The Guilt of Enjoying Something Again
This one caught me off guard.
Sometimes I'll find myself excited about something, and then a little voice asks:
How can you enjoy this when Paul isn't here?
I know he'd want me out living rather than sitting at home staring at the walls. But knowing that doesn't always silence the guilt.
Happiness and heartbreak have a strange way of showing up together.
I'm learning to let them.
I'm Not Starting Over
People talk about rebuilding your life after loss as though you're starting with a blank page.
A fresh start. A new beginning.
But I'm not twenty-one again.
I have twenty-three years of memories, two boys, responsibilities, and a whole life I don't want to erase.
I don't want to start over. I want to keep going.
Paul will always be part of my story.
Somewhere Along the Way, I Started Dreaming Again
For a long time, I was simply surviving.
Get through today.
Get the boys where they need to be.
Answer the messages.
Pay the bills.
Make dinner.
Go to bed.
Wake up.
Repeat.
And then I started having ideas again.
Big ones.
The kind that make people look at you and wonder if you've completely lost your mind.
Somewhere in all those thoughts, Grá From the Heart began to take shape.
Not because I had some brilliant business plan sitting in a drawer.
But because I knew what it felt like to have your entire world turned upside down.
I knew what it felt like to sit beside someone you love and wish you could take away their pain.
And I knew how much the smallest gestures could mean.
A message. A hug. Someone remembering. Someone simply showing up.
I began wondering whether I could create something that might help someone else through their own hard days.
Not fix their grief. Not take away their pain.
Just remind them that they're loved, that they matter, and that they don't have to face everything alone.
That's what Grá From the Heart means to me. Taking the love that remains and finding another way to share it.
And alongside that dream came others.
Travelling. Ireland. Speaking. Writing.
Doing things I might never have imagined doing before.
It felt strange, exciting, and a little frightening all at once.
What If I Get It Wrong?
Sometimes I feel excited about the possibilities.
Other times I wonder if I've completely lost the plot.
What if the business doesn't work?
What if I make the wrong decision?
What if I trust the wrong person?
What if I fail?
I wish I could say everything I've been through has made me fearless.
It hasn't.
I'm still afraid of making mistakes, getting hurt, and discovering that something I believed in isn't going to work.
But I've also learned how quickly life can change.
And I don't want to spend whatever time I have left being too frightened to try.
I Still Want Someone Beside Me
This is perhaps one of the hardest things to admit.
I don't want to do the rest of my life alone.
There. I said it.
I miss having someone.
Not just someone to go to dinner with or take on holidays.
Someone to share the ordinary things with.
Someone to tell when something good happens.
Someone who notices when I've had a terrible day.
Someone who asks if I got home safely.
Someone to sit beside me with a cuppa and talk about absolutely nothing.
I miss being part of a we.
And admitting that doesn't mean I'm trying to replace Paul.
You cannot replace twenty-three years.
You cannot replace the father of your children.
But I am still here, and I still have a heart that wants to love and be loved.
I loved Paul for all of his life. That doesn't mean I have to stop living the rest of mine.
The Life in Front of Me
If someone had shown me this life years ago, I would have said no.
Absolutely not.
Find someone else.
I didn't want to be a widow in my forties.
I didn't want to raise my boys without their dad.
I didn't want to be making all these decisions alone.
And there are still days when I want to stamp my feet like a child and say:
This is not fair.
Because it isn't.
But here I am.
Still a mom.
Still a woman with dreams.
Still someone who loves a good laugh, an adventure, and a proper cuppa.
I don't have to love what happened to me to appreciate the good things that happen now.
And I don't have to choose between missing Paul and enjoying my life.
I can do both.
The Plan Has Changed. The Love Hasn't.
Some days I question every decision I make. Other days I find myself laughing, making plans, and getting excited about things I never expected.
Both are part of my life now.
And that's something I want Grá From the Heart to reflect.
Not a promise that the hard days disappear.
Just a reminder that love doesn't.
I didn't choose this life.
But I'm here, living it, one ordinary, messy, sometimes beautiful day at a time.
And sometimes, when Friday evening rolls around, I still think about those nights with Paul.
How we'd spend the entire week looking forward to doing absolutely nothing.
How we'd laugh because neither of us could stay awake past nine.
I didn't know then how much those ordinary evenings would come to mean to me.
I just knew I was happy.
I can't have those Friday nights back.
But I can remember them with a smile, even when that smile comes with a few tears.
And I can still find moments worth looking forward to, even if they look different now.
So when the week has been long and everything feels a little overwhelming, I'll put the kettle on, settle in, and remember that sometimes the best part of life is simply being home.
Because the plan may have changed.
But the love stays.
With grá,
Liz ☕