Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about stars.
How they shine, how they burn, how they eventually collapse under the weight of their own gravity.
And strangely… how much I can relate to them.
Because when Pat died, I didn’t just lose someone.
Something inside me imploded – quietly at first, then all at once.
The life I knew folded in on itself, the way a star does when it can no longer hold the pressure that once made it shine.
I don’t recognize myself. I don’t recognize the world. I don’t recognize the version of “me” that used to move through life without thinking.
People don’t talk about the moment after the collapse – not the grief itself, but the aftershocks of it all.
How the light dims.
How the heat changes.
How everything becomes silent and unbearably loud at the same time.
That’s the part no one prepares you for.
But here’s the thing about stars:
When they implode… they also become something else.
Not the version they were before, not the version they tried to hold together, but something new, raw, powerful, and strangely beautiful.
And that’s where I am now.
I’m not the widow standing in the immediate explosion anymore.
I’m not the woman holding her boys and trying to pretend she’s strong while her entire universe collapses around her.
And I’m not the version of myself who lived before the implosion because she doesn’t exist anymore, no matter how hard I try to find her.
Right now, I’m somewhere in that strange, sacred middle. In the inbetween.
The part where the dust is still settling.
The part where the heat still lingers.
The part where pieces of the old me are drifting, rearranging, forming into something I’ve never been before.
It’s uncomfortable.
It’s unfamiliar.
And somehow, even here, there’s a tiny spark of hope.
Because a star doesn’t implode and disappear.
It implodes and becomes something new.
A beginning wrapped inside an ending.
A place where new stars form.
And maybe that’s what this season of widowhood is for me.
Not a rebirth I asked for.
Not a transformation I planned.
But a slow gathering of everything that survived the collapse, my strength, my softness, my hurt, my hope, and letting those pieces create something new.
I still miss the life I had.
I still talk to the person I lost.
I still feel the gravity of what imploded.
But I’m also noticing tiny sparks rising out of the rubble:
A moment of clarity about who I’m becoming.
A sense of direction I haven’t felt in years.
A strength that isn’t forced. It’s just there, quietly, steadily.
A voice inside me that whispers, “Keep going, you’re forming again.”
I’m not “healed,” whatever that means.
But I’m not broken in the same way I was.
I’m something new now. Still glowing, still shifting, still becoming.
A widow, yes.
But also a woman rebuilding her life.
If you’re here too, standing in the remnants, wondering what comes next, just know this:
Implosions aren’t the end.
They’re the beginning of the next version of your light.
And you’re allowed to shine again, even if it looks different than before.
Even if you’re still gathering your pieces.
Even if you don’t feel ready.
New stars take time to form.
And so do we.
I’ve been gone awhile from writing and I hate that. I don’t have the time anymore. I don’t make the time anymore. Life has gotten a little out of hand in the past month or so. Our family is going through yet another transition and this time I am the one left struggling.
This second chance or second chapter of my life is different. I see things in such a different way. I want to live and fully embrace the meaning of life. I want to explore this world and experience it. I want to do what I want to do. I want to follow my heart and my passion. I don’t want to settle. I don’t want to give in. I don’t want to worry about the little things. There is so much more to life than things. This leads me to living more simple. I have been purging my house of belongings…of things I never needed. I don’t want stuff anymore. I want experiences…I want memories. I want to do and I want to be. I understand that life isn’t always that simple. I am going to have to go back to work and do something to pay the bills eventually. I am still going to have the mundane chores of life, but I see those different now too
I think the fact that I have been writing like crazy shows I am back in the game. My book is coming along nicely and I am ready to begin the process of starting a non-profit. I am sure I will still be hesitant about things, but I know that now I am ready to get going on with this thing called life. It is time to start putting my words into action.
That is not who I am…ever. I will give myself sometime to feel what I am feeling. Think through my craziness. Cry a gallon of tears. But there is a point where I say enough is enough. Get off your ass Denise and get going. Today is that day. I am giving myself this past week for what it was worth and I am ready to start again…again. As long as I keep getting up and trying to move forward I think I am heading the right direction. As for the voice of Fear screaming in my head, I am ready to shut her down. If I fail at what I am going to try to do, then I fail. It doesn’t make me a loser. It simply makes me someone who wants to live. Living is about learning and loving. There is nothing more I want to do with my time here then to learn and love. So bring it on. I’ve survived worse and I am ready
Finding myself again at the age of 42 is way more difficult than it was in my teenage years. And I thought that was pretty tough. I am so lost in who I am and it is incredibly confusing to me because of course I know who I am, right? You’d think so. Losing Pat didn’t just take away my role of being a wife. I didn’t just lose my best friend, and partner in life. I lost me. Some times I don’t even recognize my own reflection anymore. I have changed so quickly and so dramatically that I haven’t been able to keep up with it all. I’ve never felt so lonely as I do these days and that can happen even when I am sitting with a group of people. It’s not the loneliness of not having anyone around, obviously, but a loneliness in the soul. It’s like walking around aimlessly without any purpose or reason for doing so. My children keep me busy, they are my focus and my life. But they have lives too. When they go, what do I have? I have me. But I don’t know who that is anymore. I don’t know what to do or where to go. I think it’s the fear that I have now…the hesitation towards life that leaves me in the paralyzing confusion. I have a bit of fear of losing now….losing anything. Losing respect, losing focus, losing hope, literally anything. I don’t want to lose so I don’t take the risk. Can’t lose if you don’t play.
I need to hear him say I’m going to be okay. He was my number one fan. I need that. I need to feel his undying support and unconditional love. He would give it to me straight and guide me in the direction I need to be. He was my partner through it all. I miss that. I need that.