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I’ve lost track of how many supportive friends have shared the TED Talk by Nora McInerny, the author and creator of the Hot Young Widows Club. If you haven’t heard of this club, you’re fortunate. Despite its playful name, it’s a group that no one wishes to join. The cost of admission is steep — not based on looks or age, but rather on a life-altering, heart-wrenching loss. In her talk, Nora discusses the important notion that we don’t move on from grief; instead, we move forward with it.
“A grieving person will laugh again and smile again,” she states in her TED Talk. “They’ll move forward, but that doesn’t mean they’ve moved on.”
The idea seems straightforward enough. I’ve been a widow for 1,138 days and have been familiar with grief a bit longer, counting the moments when doctors informed me that my young husband had only weeks to live, prompting me to mourn the future we would never have. After all this time, I thought I grasped what it meant to move forward rather than move on.
Just a few days ago, I would have claimed I was making progress with my grief. Over the past three years, I’ve bought a new home, embarked on a new career (actually two), and even ventured into dating. I allowed myself to experience joy and sadness during birthdays and anniversaries, saying my husband’s name and reminiscing about our life together. I believed I was doing exactly what Nora suggested: moving forward with my grief.
However, I wasn’t truly doing that. As I observed friends advancing in their lives, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was lagging behind.
This past weekend, the man I’m dating (I still find the term “boyfriend” a bit strange, but for simplicity, let’s use it) invited me to take my children on a hike with him and his son. I eagerly accepted for two reasons: one, it was a great excuse to get my kids away from their screens for a few hours, and two, I was facing the lingering aftermath of a particularly intense wave of grief. I hoped that some fresh air and a break from our pandemic routine would help.
I assumed “hike” meant following a familiar, well-trodden path to a specific destination and then returning. This is why I thought it was acceptable to wear platform sneakers. But our hike quickly took an unexpected turn. Just a few minutes in, my boyfriend veered sharply to the right and began climbing uphill through the trees. My kids and I followed him, not fully grasping what lay ahead.
Before long, we were leaping over rocks to cross streams, climbing over boulders with tree branches for support, and squeezing through narrow stone passages. For most of the hike, I struggled to find stable footing and had no clue where we were headed. Eventually, we found ourselves standing atop a waterfall, gazing down at the hikers who had chosen the well-worn path — the very path I had always taken.
In that moment, the combination of a grief wave, a scraped knee from a jagged branch (who wears platform sneakers for hiking?!), and the dizzying height made the phrase “moving forward with grief” resonate in a new way. I realized something I should have recognized long ago: I grasped the “with grief” part, but I misunderstood what “moving forward” truly entailed.
I believed that moving forward meant taking action. I had been active — buying a house, starting new careers, and dating. Yet, upon reflection, none of those actions represented genuine forward movement. Sure, I moved to a new house, but it was just down the street. My running route hadn’t even changed. I started two new careers, but both were hobbies I had engaged in before becoming a widow. Neither pushed me out of my comfort zone.
While dating was uncharted territory (especially online dating — I’m still amazed by that world), I often recoiled from experiences that required me to change any aspect of my pre-loss life. The truth was that my steps forward were merely superficial. Instead of progressing, I was merely shuffling sideways within my comfort zone, in a life I had built alongside my husband, even though he was no longer present.
It took a literal detour into the unknown, into a situation for which I was unprepared, to help me realize that “moving forward” encompasses more than merely surviving and finding laughter again after a loss. It certainly includes learning to laugh, which is essential for moving forward with grief. But standing over that waterfall, I recognized that “moving forward” also means accepting that your path looks different after a loss — and mourning that reality. It requires letting go of what no longer serves you and wholeheartedly embracing what does. Sometimes, it means taking a right turn instead of sticking to the familiar route — even if you’re wearing completely inappropriate shoes.
For more insights into the journey of home insemination, check out this article. If you’re looking for detailed information on artificial insemination, Make a Mom is a great authority on the subject. Also, the NHS provides excellent resources regarding pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary:
This reflective piece explores the journey of grief following the loss of a spouse. The author shares personal experiences of navigating life after loss, emphasizing the difference between merely moving forward and genuinely progressing through grief. Through an unexpected hiking adventure, she learns that true forward movement involves embracing change, leaving behind what no longer fits, and acknowledging the altered landscape of life after loss.