It’s been a year since I lost my husband, and every single day feels like a struggle to find my footing in a world that looks nothing like the one I used to know. For decades, he was my partner, my best friend, and the anchor that kept me steady. Now, I feel adrift, trying to navigate a life that’s been turned upside down.

My children live far away, scattered across the globe, chasing their dreams and building lives of their own. I’m endlessly proud of them—they’re thriving, and I know that’s what every parent hopes for. But pride doesn’t fill the empty spaces in my heart. Phone calls and video chats are a comfort, but they can’t replace the warmth of a hug or the sound of their laughter filling the house. I can’t help but feel so alone.

Teaching is the one thing that keeps me going. Each morning, I walk into my classroom and lose myself in the chatter of my students, their curiosity, and their boundless energy. For a while, I forget the loneliness that waits for me at home. I focus on their stories, their dreams, and their little triumphs, and it gives me a sense of purpose, a reason to keep moving forward.

But when the final bell rings and I walk through my front door, the silence hits me like a wave. It’s deafening. The house, once so full of life, feels hollow, echoing with memories that both comfort and torment me. I keep busy—reading, cleaning, anything to distract myself—but there are moments when the loneliness becomes almost unbearable.

I try to remind myself that grief is a process, that healing takes time, but some days it’s hard to believe. I wonder if I’ll ever feel whole again, if this emptiness will ever fade. Until then, I just take it one day at a time, hoping that somehow, I’ll learn how to live in this new reality.