The Life I Never Imagined Living

Twelve years ago this month, Steve died. October has always been a complicated month for me. It’s the month we lost him, but it’s also the month we got married. This year would have been our 29th wedding anniversary.

And now, October is taking on another meaning for our family. My oldest daughter recently got engaged, and she and her fiancé have chosen October 25, 2027, what would have been Steve’s and my 30th wedding anniversary, as their wedding date. I was incredibly touched by their decision. A date that has meant so much to me for nearly 30 years will now be part of their story, too.

It’s had me thinking a lot about how different my life looks from the one I imagined when Steve and I got married. Back then, I had a pretty clear picture of what our future would look like. We would raise our three daughters together, eventually become empty nesters, travel, enjoy the freedom that comes with having adult children, and grow old together.

That was the plan. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t.

When Steve died, I wasn’t thinking about what my life might look like 12 years later. I was trying to figure out how to get through the next day. I had three daughters who needed me, a business I knew very little about, and more decisions to make than I ever thought possible. I certainly wasn’t thinking about building a new career, traveling around the world or standing on a stage sharing my story with business leaders.

Yet here I am.

As I write this, I’m wrapping up a trip to Japan, where I had the opportunity to speak at a conference for business leaders from across Asia. My talk was titled The Chapter I Didn’t Choose: Finding Your Way When Everything Changes.

The irony isn’t lost on me. I was standing on a stage talking about navigating unexpected change, something I never would have been doing had Steve not died. Before his death, I had been a stay-at-home mom for 14 years. I didn’t have a LinkedIn profile, let alone a career speaking to executives about leadership and adversity.

And now, 12 years later, I was halfway around the world doing exactly that.

I am incredibly proud of the life I’ve built. I’ve raised three daughters who are now young adults finding their own paths. I’ve had professional opportunities I never imagined, met wonderful people, traveled to places I might never have visited and discovered things about myself that I didn’t know were there.

But here’s the thing. I can be proud of all of that and still wish Steve were here.

I think that’s one of the things people sometimes misunderstand about life after loss. They see you doing well, enjoying life, accomplishing things, and assume that you’ve moved on. And in some ways, you have. You’ve had to. But moving forward doesn’t mean you’ve stopped missing the life you thought you were going to have.

There are still moments when I wish I could pick up the phone and tell Steve something exciting. I wish he could see the women our daughters have become. I wish we could talk about their lives, make decisions together and laugh about the things only the two of us would understand. And yes, I wish he had been sitting in the audience in Japan.

I also know that if Steve were still here, my life would probably look very different. Would I have become a coach? Started my own businesses? Traveled alone? Found the confidence to speak on stages around the world? I have no idea.

And I don’t think I need to know.

For a long time after Steve died, I measured my life against the one I had lost. I thought about the experiences we wouldn’t have, the milestones he would miss and all the things I now had to do alone. Over time, though, I began to recognize that while I couldn’t have the life we’d planned, I could still build a life I wanted to live.

That didn’t happen overnight. And it certainly didn’t happen without a lot of mistakes, fear, frustration and moments when I questioned myself.

It happened one decision at a time. Some were big, like stepping into a leadership role at Steve’s company. Others were much smaller, like saying yes to an invitation, taking a trip or trying something I wasn’t sure I could do.

I didn’t always feel ready. Sometimes I still don’t.

One thing I’ve learned is that we don’t have to have the rest of our lives figured out to start living them. We can change our minds. We can try something and discover it’s not for us. We can want different things at 60 than we wanted at 40. And we can create a life that looks nothing like the one we originally imagined.

As widows, I think we sometimes feel caught between honoring the life we had and allowing ourselves to fully embrace the life we have now. Almost as though enjoying what comes next somehow takes away from what came before.

It doesn’t.

I will always love Steve. I will always wish we had more time together. And I will always wonder what our lives would look like today if things had turned out differently.

But I also genuinely love many parts of the life I have now. I’m proud of the woman I’ve become, the relationships I’ve built and the experiences I’ve had. There are still things I want to do, places I want to go and parts of myself I’m continuing to discover.

And next October, I’ll watch my oldest daughter get married on the same date Steve and I did 30 years earlier. I never imagined celebrating that anniversary at my daughter’s wedding, just as I never imagined so many other parts of the life I’m living today.

I wish Steve could be there. I wish he could walk her down the aisle, celebrate with our family and see the life she’s building for herself. His absence will be felt, but so will the love we shared and the family we created together.

Twelve years ago, I couldn’t have imagined this life. And if you had told me then where I’d be today, I’m not sure I would have believed you.

I don’t know exactly what the next 12 years will look like, either. But I’m looking forward to finding out.

I’ve learned that I can miss the life I thought I would have and still love the life I’m living. Both can be true.