In the wake of loss: The quiet struggles and tender moments

I recently shared my post about wiping the dust off my wife’s shoes in a Facebook group for widows and widowers. The responses I received were deeply emotional and revealing, offering a raw glimpse into the grief and healing that others are experiencing. Below is a small selection of the heartfelt replies I encountered:

• “Do what you feel led to do and not do. This journey belongs to no one but you.”
• “I feel like I died too and they just forgot to bury me.”
• “I wish I had someone who cares, someone to talk about my grief and my days.”
• “My husband’s sneakers and folded socks are still under the chair next to the bed. It’s only been two months and the grief hits me like a tidal wave sometimes.”
• “Seven weeks after my husband passed, a family in another state walked away from a house fire with only their nightclothes. The man was the exact size of my husband, shoes and all. I had just bought new clothes for his return from the hospital. I boxed up what I could part with, but there was still so much I couldn’t let go of. However, I knew he would’ve given the shirt off his back to help, and this act felt like a way to do that. But I still have his bathrobe hanging in my closet. I can’t let it go.”
• “I took a large portion of my husband’s shirts and cowboy hats to his memorial service, for friends to take one as a little ‘piece’ of him.”
• “My wife’s purse is still sitting where she left it. It’s been eight months and I still can’t move it.”
• “I cleaned out my husband’s things about two months ago. The grief was intense and overwhelming, but I felt a sense of renewal when it was over.”
• “I had to move three months after my husband died and donated his clothes to a non-profit. But when I pulled out the shoes he wore for our wedding 16 years earlier, I lost it. I cried a river of tears.”
• “I help other widows and widowers by taking their loved ones’ clothing and making pillows and teddy bears out of it, so a piece of their loved one is always with them.”
• “I had the same experience with dust all over his shoes. It was jolting to realize that I’d never see him in that clothing again.”
• “It is so hard, I had to stop because it was overwhelming. His memory is all around, but the house seems empty.”
• “After reading this post, I decided to donate his shoes to a local homeless shelter. It felt right to donate these shoes to people who could really use them.”
• “Almost a year later, his toothbrush is still on the bathroom counter.”
• “The grief, the memories, the gripping thoughts of what if, and why, the anger, it all comes in waves. It’s so hard.”
• “I donate my wife’s things in small steps. I work on it for maybe 30-60 minutes at a time or until I can’t see through my tears.”
• “It helps to thank the garment for being part of a cherished moment and giving it to someone who needs it now. It’s the love energy you’re sending out to a stranger in a thrift shop—through a donated item.”
• “Your wife would really want to see some struggling young lady wearing those boots.”
• “It’s been four months and I haven’t gotten rid of her clothes. Sometimes I still think that she’s coming back.”

Reading these responses has been a powerful reminder that grief is a deeply personal journey, and yet, we all share common threads of loss, love, and longing. The way we hold on to the memories and belongings of those we’ve lost is a testament to the bond we shared with them, and the process of letting go—whether slow or sudden—can be both painful and healing. It’s clear that we find comfort in different ways: through preserving items, donating them, or finding new meaning in the things our loved ones left behind. In the end, the love we carry for them never truly fades; it transforms into something that helps us move forward, even as we continue to hold them in our hearts.

Love you all