When Everything Falls to One Person

There is a part of widowhood that rarely gets named out loud.

After loss, everything falls to one person.

Every decision.

Every phone call.

Every problem that needs to be solved.

Every moment when something goes sideways and there is no one to turn to and say, “Can you handle this?”

This month, that weight showed up in a very real way for me.

I had one particular week where it felt like one thing after another landed squarely on my shoulders—tasks my husband, Steve, would have handled without much discussion. Add winter in Chicago, the cold, the gray, the way it seeps into your bones, and it all feels heavier than usual.

Yes, these are first world problems.

And…they are still exhausting.

I drove one of my daughters back to college to move into a sublet apartment. She had signed the lease, we arrived with the car full, and there was only one key. The landlord had not provided the second key to the lock. We stood there, unable to enter the apartment she had legally rented.

Apparently the prior tenants had issues with the lock. The building had been sold. There was a new management company. A perfect storm.

So I handled it.

Called the locksmith.

Approved the replacement.

Paid the $600 bill.

Then I wrote the email requesting reimbursement.

It did get resolved.

But not without effort.

That same trip, the hotel we stayed in charged me a $250 smoking fee. This was a lovely, upscale hotel. We do not smoke. We did not light candles. We did nothing that would trigger that charge. The front desk told me the rooms have sensors that detect smoke. I learned something new that day, but it did not change the fact that we did not smoke. They also charged me for champagne none of us drank.

So I escalated.

I contacted the general manager.

I stayed calm and clear.

I got it taken care of.

Then there was my other daughter’s car. While she was home for Christmas break, her parked car at school was hit. The person who backed into it kept backing up and took out the gas line to the apartment. Thankfully, no one was hurt. He left a nasty note on her windshield.

I had to track down the police report, brace myself for a potentially unpleasant interaction and prepare to deal with insurance. Fortunately, the police report included his insurance information, and he had already filed a claim. I called and handled it directly.

And then there was the long drive from Chicago to Charleston. Steve would have done most of the driving. He always did.

It has been 11 years since Steve died. I am very capable. I know how to do hard things. I have become accustomed to handling situations like these.

And still, they wear me down.

Because it is not just the task itself. It is the accumulation. The constant knowing that you are the default. The heavy. The one who fixes, negotiates, escalates, drives, decides.

I do not like having to play the heavy all the time.

Some days, widowhood looks strong and resilient and “I’ve got this.”

Other days, it looks like quietly wishing there was someone else to split the load.

If you are feeling this too, I want you to know you are not weak. You are not failing. You are carrying more than one person was ever meant to carry alone.

There is grief in the absence of help.

There is grief in responsibility.

There is grief in competence that no one sees because it is expected now.

Be gentle with yourself when the exhaustion hits.

Name it for what it is.

And when you can, let yourself rest from being the heavy.

You have earned that grace.

You are doing hard things.

Even when no one is watching.