This from an unknown author:
Grief never ends. But it changes. It’s a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith. It is the price of love.
When I read the first part — about grief never ending — I thought, That’s not true. Because it feels as if my grief over losing Hubby to cancer has ended.
Photo credit: Pixabay
When I married Hubby, we didn’t know each other very well. We met one weekend, wrote for nearly a year—continents apart—and then on our first date, he proposed.
After that first date, I re-boarded a plane, and we planned a wedding long distance. Which meant all our dating and getting to know one another took place after we were husband and wife.
Photo credit: Simply Kristina Lee Photography
A spontaneous group hug from The Littles—can you count all four heads?—took place at the train station in New Jersey after hanging out with the youngest of my support team members. (The Teens, of course, are way too cool to do group hugs. Not that either of them were even out of bed when this photo was taken, this being summer vacation.)
Part of my support team
I’m somewhere in the U.S. with six grandkids, and I’ve shooed The Parents away for an out-of-town escape to recharge their batteries. Hint: It’s known as the Garden State and it’s clear on the other side of the world continent from my home in Oregon.
The Grands
Granddaughter Lilly, a black belt in Mixed Martial Arts, recently competed in a Tiger Schulmann MMA tournament and captured two 3rd place finishes. On the way home, she FaceTimed and of course she was disappointed because she has some rather nice 1st-place hardware in her room at home.
Photo credit: Pixabay
But by the time she and her dad stopped for lunch and she posted a photo to Instagram, here was her caption:
Win or lose, I left it all on the mats today.
I have a very wise 15-year-old granddaughter.
Dear newly-widowed Marlys — I’m now 19 months into widowhood, and while there are quite possibly more things ahead to deal with, for the most part I’m feeling pretty seasoned.
You’re a newbie. And you’re overwhelmed. So for this moment, make a cup of Chai tea—knowing how much you and I love Chai—and put your feet up to read this letter. Remember to breathe.
Photo credit: Pixabay
My first thought—as we were hugging good-bye and someone said, “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”—was that it took something like cancer to motivate us to plan this sibs-and-mom-in-law vacation.
Photo credit: Lonnie Johnson
While trying to resolve some email issues, I stumbled across a side folder of random email from 2014. The humorous. The heart-warming. The heart-breaking. An unexpected gift. Seeing where I was two years ago as cancer was taking my husband from me, remembering who was there with me, how God infiltrated everything with His unimaginable peace.
In this photo, Hubby had just six weeks of life left (Photo: Kris Johnson)
Gilda Radner, Saturday Night Live comedienne who died of ovarian cancer in 1989, had this to say about life:
Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it without knowing what’s going to happen next.
Six years after her death, a center to provide social and emotional support for cancer patients and caregivers opened in New York City. It was the first of several Gilda’s Clubs in honor of Ms. Radner — all with brilliant red doors.
Photo credit: Panoramio
Sometimes when things hit hard and fast — like loss of health or financial security, loss of a home or a way of life, or loss of a loved one — there can be a tendency to wrap our lives tightly around ourselves like a security blanket and stay put; a tendency to not venture out because venturing out doesn’t feel very safe any more.
Photo credit: Pixabay
Copyright © 2025 Marlys Johnson
