April: The month that changed everything
While the grief of that day still lingers, the past year has also been filled with love, healing, and the strength to move forward.
The month I’ve been dreading has arrived. April. April 16th, to be exact. The day I lost Jody.
For weeks, I’ve felt the weight of anticipatory grief creeping in, as the morning light begins to resemble that same soft glow from the morning she left. Soon, the months since losing her will turn into years.
Some days, April 16, 2024, feels like yesterday. Other times, it feels like a lifetime ago—three lifetimes, even. The trauma of that morning still rushes back in waves. The frantic 911 call. The desperate attempts to revive her. My voice, breaking as I begged her to wake up. Please don’t die. You can’t die.
But it was over.
I try not to let those memories consume me. Maybe writing them down will loosen their grip, even just a little. Because while April 16th was the worst day of my life, this past year has been about more than just that morning.
It has also been about love—the unwavering kindness of family and friends who surrounded me with support through cards, calls, prayers, and visits. The meal train that sustained me when I was too lost in grief to cook but still needed to eat.
It has been about healing—the grief workshops, the endless books, the retreats, the counselors. And the writing. Writing on Facebook, on my blog, and now—finally—on the pages of a novel I started but never finished thirty years ago. The book Jody always wanted me to write. I’m writing it now, sweetheart.
Somehow, I have learned to move forward. To carry both sorrow and joy. To honor the past while turning the page toward what’s ahead. I call it Life 3.0—a life reshaped by loss but still worth living. Along the way, I’ve found new relationships, many with people who have walked through the same fire. There is a bond among widows and widowers, an unspoken understanding between those who get it. And through them, I have learned something else:
There is life on the other side of grief. And the possibility for love.
I know that would make Jody happy. She would never want me to remain trapped in mourning. Life is for the living. It may not be the life I chose, but it’s the life I have been given to live to the best of my ability. And I will embrace it—for myself, for my family, and for Jody. My Jody, who I will carry in my heart always.
Because on my wedding day, I made a vow:
I promise to love you and honor you all the days of my life.
And I mean to keep that vow.
Love you all.
About Paul
If you've navigated the complexities of love, loss, or life's unpredictable twists and turns, this blog is for you. Paul, who was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease in 2022 and lost his beloved Jody in 2024, is also a father, new grandfather and a speaker/writer. Paul writes to make sense of the world around him, sharing his personal journey through grief, Parkinson’s, and life's challenges. With a mix of lightheartedness, thoughtfulness, and unwavering authenticity, Paul offers a relatable and heartfelt perspective on the human experience. His writing is often described as warm, genuine and deeply moving.