Touched by loss. Empowered through community.

The Passing of Time

Monday, April 30, 2012
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It’s funny the way you mark the passing of time when you are widowed.  In the beginning, we know without thinking how many months, days, maybe even hours, our spouse has been gone.  We count how many birthdays our husband or wife has missed, how many of our wedding anniversaries, how many Christmases.  We use words like “deathiversary” to mark the anniversary of the day they died. 

We identify each other based on how long it’s been since our spouse died, as in “Have you met Julie?  It’ll be three years in March.”  And we know exactly what that means. 

For me, I find myself acknowledging the passing of time as we approach this time of year – my kids’ baseball season.   This will be the third year that my oldest son will play, and the first year that both my boys will be playing.

Baseball was something Kevin looked forward to sharing with our boys before they were even born.  He never got to see either one of them play.

The first season, merely months after Kevin died; I sat on the sidelines and felt an overwhelming sense of loss.  Watching all of those dads out on the field, tossing the ball to their children, happily involved in making memories with their sons was heartbreaking.

I saw all that my boys would never have.  I saw all that Kevin would never have.   

Each season now brings a flood of emotion.  I am still so sad that Kevin can’t be a part of this.  That he can’t be there to cheer them on, teach them to run, throw, catch and hit.  But, each season becomes less painful, as I see that my sons are happy.  That they see the joy in baseball, and not what is missing. 

I see other fathers -- good, kind, men – some of whom never even met Kevin, teaching my sons all of these things, cheering them on, giving them pointers and praise.  It’s bittersweet.  I wish that they didn’t have to.  I wish that Kevin could be out there on the field.  

I imagine that I will always think of Kevin during this time of year.  I will always miss him.  I will wish he could see our boys.  But, I will still find the joy in baseball. 


What a bittersweet read. I sat at lacrosse yesterday and watched the coach ruffle my son's hair after a particularly good play. The tears came unexpectedly as I realized that the coach should have been my husband. I regularly sit at the rink, where my husband was his coach and mentor, and had that same exact thought that you stated - about all my son will never have and all my husband will never have. And try not to dwell on how unfair this is for all of us! So, I too will work to find the joy. Thank you for stating it so well!

Beautifully written (as usual), Laura. I'm proud of you that, despite the unfairness of it all, you're able to find joy in this bittersweet season. Hugs.

Thanks for sharing.

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