Every now and then, this page pauses the laughter long enough to remember why humor matters. Because sometimes joy and sorrow hold hands — and that’s where healing hides.
I’ve been sitting here trying to come up with a clever title for this post.
Grief Is Weird.
Birthdays and Goodbyes.
Life Before…
Before what, exactly?
(Insert exasperated sigh from your brilliant — but tired — blogger.)
To put it bluntly: life before Steve died.
In 2020 — because of course it was the year the world shut down — my husband, Steve, was diagnosed with bladder cancer. That alone is devastating enough. Pair cancer with the pandemic restrictions that determined whether a wife could accompany her terrified husband to doctor appointments or visit him after surgeries, and that devastation becomes insurmountable.
That was our reality from his first ER visit in the early hours of April 24, 2020 — my 50th birthday — until his last breath on February 1, 2023.
To sum up those 1,013 days in one word: exhausting.
Emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually exhausting.
I’m not here tonight to share those details — not yet.
Today is Steve’s 52nd birthday. It’s one of those “dates to anticipate” when you’re grieving — birthdays, holidays, anniversaries — any occasion that calls for extra celebration. The strange thing about grief, though, is that those dates don’t always hit when you expect them to. But catch me on a random Tuesday, focused on work with zero apparent triggers, and I’m in the restroom blowing my nose and willing myself to pull it together.
Grief is weird.
When I mentioned to friends and colleagues that today is Steve’s birthday, most offered sympathetic nods and kind words. For the first time since life before, I found myself saying, “No, it’s okay — I’m good.”
And I meant it.
It’s not that I don’t miss him. We were married eleven short years, and there was never a doubt we would, as Steve liked to say, go the distance. It wasn’t the first marriage for either of us, but it was the one we finally got right.
I don’t believe we fell in love a little too late.
I believe we fell in love just in time.
Three years ago today, we celebrated his final birthday here on earth. He had just started in-home hospice care — no longer undergoing treatment — but at that point, he felt tired, yet good. We were closing in on goodbye, but we weren’t there yet.
I no longer feel guilty if I don’t cry on his birthday, or Christmas, or our anniversary.
Not because he wouldn’t want me to.
Not because I’ve stopped caring.
Not because I don’t miss him.
The love Steve and I shared built a foundation strong enough to keep carrying me. Our relationship was anchored in faith, grace, laughter, and the choice to love each other every day.
Today, I celebrate Steve’s birthday knowing he’s celebrating with Jesus.
I smile when I picture his giant personality and that contagious grin.
Happy birthday, my love.
My life is sweeter because you loved me,
and Heaven is sweeter because you’re there.
💛 To anyone missing someone today: may your memories feel softer than your grief, and may you find a smile tucked somewhere inside the ache.
© 2025 Menopause & Malarkey — Where Experience Meets Exasperation.
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